


Our House Made of Paper

by blossomclouds



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - To All the Boys I've Loved Before Fusion, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Minor Clary Fray/Maia Roberts - Freeform, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 13:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16242251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blossomclouds/pseuds/blossomclouds
Summary: When he gets a crush, Simon writes a song. These are secret songs. Songs that he writes, addresses, puts in a box that his father gave him, and stuffs way in the back of his closet, so that no one ever, ever reads them.It goes pretty well like that. Until he inexplicably sees his best friend in the whole world coming down the pathway to the gym track, holding an envelope which he knows contains the song he wrote to her months ago, right after she started dating one of the three people at school he’s actually friends with.Now he’s accidentally fake-dating a guy he doesn’t even really like. Explain that to his therapist.





	Our House Made of Paper

**Author's Note:**

> taken from [this tumblr prompt.](http://hopedynesvan.tumblr.com/post/177249043017/to-all-boys-i-loved-before-jimon-style)
> 
> wow. can't believe i finished and edited it!  
> i'm not guaranteeing any accuracy on the american high school life, but i tried.  
> i'm also not a therapist, so all of that stuff is coming from an amateur, but i do hope that it's somewhat healthy and functional.

_As far as scenarios go, it’s not Simon’s best work._

_He’s sitting at a bar, having just left the stage, his guitar strung up next to Maureen’s keyboard. Maureen’s somewhere on the other side of the room, contracting their next deal, he knows, but at the moment he’s busy with the girl who approached him right after their performance._

_“Anyway,” she’s saying right now. “Your music is something that I can really identify with. That’s all I wanted to say.”_

_Simon ducks his head, but is fortunately saved from having to come up with an adequately humble reply by a slim arm sliding around his shoulders._

_“Careful, don’t make his head explode.” Clary smiles down at him. Simon’s heart speeds up as he puts a hand on her waist and smiles back. Her eyes are lit up with amusement._

_“Thanks for the song,” she says softly._

_He tightens his grip on her, and, like he does so often, wonders how it can be so easy for her to narrow his world down to just the two of them. “You’re welcome.”_

_But before he can lean up to meet her with a kiss, someone—_

Someone is pulling off his headphones.

Simon rockets off the bed and almost punches Rebecca in the face.

Clearly having anticipated this, she flings a pillow at him and catches his phone threatening to tumble off the bed expertly, while he fumbles for the headphones.

“Yo, Music Meister,” she says. “Do you think you’re ever gonna use that stereo Mom spent a lot of money on, so we could have the possibility of reaching you in your own home?”

Simon finally catches himself and pulls his shirt back down. Then he picks up the pillow off the floor, to throw it right back at his sister. “I’m not having this argument again. It’s better with headphones! And that was a terrible reference.”

She rolls her eyes. “Come down to help with dinner, little one.”

“You couldn’t have let me finish the one song.”

“How am I supposed to know when any song ends? You never stop tapping your foot!”

“Then text me,” he grumbles, following her down the stairs.

She throws him an impressive glare over her shoulder, adding further weight to his theory of a special older-sibling gene, providing them with the power to kill with their looks. “Whatever, just come on. She’s trying that pasta thing again.”

That does finally pull his full attention. His mother has been trying to get their dad’s favorite dish right for years now. At this point, Rebecca and him have stopped betting on when she’ll stop trying.

“This really is turning into some Clara Oswald type stuff,” he says, hurrying to catch up with Rebecca. “Why today? I’m starving today.”

“You’re sixteen, you’re always starving.” Rebecca sighs and stops on the last step, putting a hand on his arm. “I think she’s having a little freak-out because I’m leaving in two days, so just—" Her hand does a little gesture that Simon’s been told is a picture perfect copy of him. “Let’s humor her one last time, yeah?”

Simon leans into her touch for a second, and shrugs. “I don’t know why you’re looking at me, I’m clearly the superior actor between us.”

Her mouth drops open, but he’s already gone, so she comes dashing after him. “ _Mom_ , your son is being pubescent again!”

Elaine is waiting for them in the kitchen, an indulgent smile gracing her face. Simon goes to hide behind her and sneaks a look into the pots on the stove. He almost, _almost_ makes the mistake of physically recoiling from the smell, but saves it, when Rebecca shoots him a warning glare from where she’s skittering into the room.

“Two more years, at least, oh daughter of mine,” Mom reminds her and waves her spoon in what – to Simon and Rebecca – is a menacing fashion. “But the upside is that I can still force him to set the table while he’s living under my roof.”

Rebecca hops up on the counter and makes a face at him. Simon sticks out his tongue. “I don’t know how there aren’t more movies about moms taking over the world.”

“It’s because we’re too busy, dear,” she calls after him while he carries the plates into the dining room.

 

* * *

 

After he gets back up to his room with a mostly empty stomach and an elaborate plan to get at cereal before ten p.m., he throws his pillows back on his bed and starts untangling the cord of his headphones.

Before he can start the music back up, though, Clary’s caller ID pops up on his screen, accompanied by the cheerful tune of _Pocketful of Sunshine._ Simon’s heart speeds up its rhythm, giddy warmth rising up from the bottom of his stomach.

He slides the green receiver to the right and flops back down onto his bed. “Yello.”

“Simon!” Clary’s voice is staticky through the line, along with the rustling that usually indicates that she, too, is throwing herself onto a bed. “How’s the real world?”

“I wouldn’t know, I haven’t spent any time in it the whole week you’ve been gone.”

“Nick Cage?”

“Grey’s Anatomy, actually.”

“Oh, Simon, no.”

“Justice for O’Malley, I say. He got all the dick-ish storylines, it’s not fair.”

Clary snickers. “Oh, Simon… No.”

He throws his head back. “So, how’s Brussels?” He wriggles his toes and crosses his ankles.

“Pretty amazing, actually. The architecture is variable, the entire country can be crossed within three hours and the chocolate is exquisite.”

“So, Jocelyn, Luke _and_ Maia are happy.”

“Exactly.”

Simon laughs and for one moment allows himself to imagine the four of them in one car, crossing half of Europe. Then, he uncrosses his legs and shifts around a little. “So, all of you are still getting along?”

He can hear the eye roll right through the line. “Yes, Simon, neither my Mom, nor my dad, nor my girlfriend have felt a serious urge to maim each other, yet, even being piled into one car for the first of three weeks.”

“Good, that’s… good.” He already regrets bringing it up.

“Oh,” Clary exclaims, like this is just now occurring to her. “I’m supposed to tell you, though, greetings from the whole group and Luke misses you. We’re slaughtering him in UNO.”

Simon slaps a hand to his forehead. “There’s no way you’re _slaughtering_ him in UNO. It’s a luck-based game.”

“Spoken like a true designated UNO Loser.”

Simon shoots up. “There is no way that you can play _with_ taking the aces and _without_ interjecting. It’s basically the same thing. Doesn’t make any sense.”

“Sure.”

“That game was rigged,” Simon grumbles.

“Okay, Simon.”

“It was _rigged_.”

“Okay Simon,” she laughs. “Now let’s talk marathon evening for when I get back.”

Two hours pass before they hang up. Simon allows himself three seconds to press his phone against his chest, before he swings his legs off the bed to get himself that cereal.

He stops in his tracks, when his eyes land on the opened door of his closet. He thinks of Clary in a car with Jocelyn, Luke and Maia, and before he can think of the precise reasons not to, he’s already reaching for the box in the left-hand corner of the top shelf.

The green patterned fabric spanning the oval cardboard, is so familiar to him by now that it’s actually starred in dreams of his before.

Five envelopes look back at him when he opens it.

One for Victor Aldertree, one for Raphael Santiago, one for Jace Lightwood, one for Isabelle Lightwood, and one for Clary Fray.

Because here’s the thing.

When Simon has a crush, he writes a song. Five crushes, five songs, five fantasies about how every lyric relates to the person it was written for. They’re the only songs that Simon doesn’t ever plan on singing. There are some things that he shouldn’t be expressing to anyone other than himself.

There’s a personal kind of comfort in knowing that the five pages are there, though, just for him to know what they mean.

Now Simon skips over the first four envelopes – over Isabelle (who danced with him at freshman homecoming), Raphael (who represented Norway at the Model UN in middle school), Jace (who was an ill-fated kiss in a Spin-the-Bottle game), and Victor (who was his rowing partner in camp) – to get to the most important of them all, buried all the way at the bottom.

He wrote Clary’s song last year, mostly because Clary has always been different.

Simon’s never known _how_ to write her song, despite being in love with her since kindergarten. Only when she officially started dating Maia in sophomore year, after they’d danced around each other the entirety of freshman year, had he gotten that burning feeling beneath his sternum and the words had started flowing.

It’s not, that he doesn’t like Maia. In fact, that’s pretty much the opposite of the problem. Maia had been the second real friend he’s made in his life, and he’s not even sure if he can count Clary as ‘making a friend’. That had been more of a classic instance of Clary deciding that they were going to be friends, and then made it happen by pure force of will. So really, Maia had been the _first_ real friend he’s ever made in his life.

It’s something that he can’t even regret, because Maia is great. She’s funny, quick and she understands Simon on a completely different level than Clary. More than that, her and Clary fit like puzzle pieces. Hearing their joint laughter is something that will probably always warm his heart.

It’s just that there’s always a bitter taste on his tongue, too.

Hanging his head, Simon evens the creases in the paper before he folds the page back up and sticks it in the envelope.

He hopes that he’ll be able to sleep tonight.

 

* * *

 

Two days later, they’re standing in front of the security gates at the airport, ready to see Rebecca off to college.

Well. More or less ready. Mom is already fighting back tears, and Simon is losing the battle against the stones rumbling around in his stomach.

This sort of sucks.

He’s sure that Mom cracks some ribs, when she hugs her daughter and they exchange a few words, and hug again.

Then, because she’s awesome, his mom says, “I’m gonna go buy you a magazine and some chocolate, sweetie,” and leaves them alone for their goodbye.

“Hey, egghead.” Rebecca looks surprisingly serious for the ridiculous insult she just hurled at him. “Listen to me. Junior year can be a lot of fun. I want you to enjoy it for me, okay?”

Simon taps a finger against his chin, twice. “Weren’t you a junior when you broke a sink in the girls’ bathroom with your boyfriend? Is that what you’re suggesting I do?”

A finger pokes into his chest. “If you break a sink in the girls’ bathroom with a boyfriend,” Rebecca says slowly, “you better call me the very next day and facetime me in, when you tell Mom, or I swear to God, I will hunt you to the very ends of this earth.”

Simon nods and swallows around the lump in his throat. “Understood.”

“But seriously,” she says now and steps closer to him, both hands on his shoulders, “I actually think that maybe you _should_ do something like breaking a sink. The last few years, I’ve been the only one to have uncomfortable conversations with Mom and I’m beginning to feel kinda bad about it. So, step up your game.”

He chuckles and is proud to say that he only squirms a little under her gaze.

“If you want that, tell Clary to boost her influence,” he says.

“Oh, believe me.” She pats him on his shoulders. “I will.”

Then, she pulls him in roughly, and he comes stumbling into her arms. He’s outgrown her last year when he hit his latest – and presumably last – growth spurt, so now he needs to lean down just a little to kiss the top of her head. It doesn’t say much, they’re not a very tall family, but right now, it’s making his heart hurt.

“Alright, honey,” Mom says from behind them. She appears to have collected herself and now presents Rebecca with an edition of a home building magazine. “You have an hour left, and you never know what might happen in security checks.”

Rebecca lets go of him and takes the magazine with a smile. She pulls out the grip of her carry-on and gives them one last look. Mom pulls Simon in and for a second he’s reminded of a scene out of a lifetime movie.

Giving them a last wave, his big sister turns on her heel and leaves the two of them behind.

“Send me memes,” Simon calls.

She doesn’t turn around, but her laughter rings in his ears all the way home.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the summer holidays passes in a blur of _Grey’s Anatomy_ , Clary coming back, _brooklyn 99_ , Maia coming back after her detour to visit her extended family, throwing popcorn at the screen showing _Hannah Montana_ , and Maureen coming back from the Everglades on the last weekend of the holidays, which means that they spent the last two days throwing M&Ms at each other at the lake.

It’s a good few weeks, actually. Simon only reaches for his box twice.

He’s simultaneously glad and anxious about school starting up again. On his first day of junior year, he’s sitting in his truck in the parking lot, hesitant to step out.

Aside from running into Kirk Duplesse, he’s never really been afraid of school, and even that one had gotten significantly less threatening since he has three people unwilling to accept physical mistreatment of him. It’s just that there’s something odd about not having Rebecca sitting next to him, practically shoving him out of the car. She’s always been a little more resolute about doing things, than he is.

Sighing, Simon pushes the door open and slings his backpack over his shoulder. Walking into the school, he grins at the freshmen that are newly arriving and keeps a look-out for the girls. Their time tables don’t overlap for the first class of Monday, but their first-day protocol usually dictates that they meet up to exchange first impressions and, if necessary, words of encouragement.

Today, he can’t seem to find them, though, as he’s roaming the hallway. Instead he has to avoid a gaggle of guys in letterman jackets and runs straight into a person who’s definitely none of his friends, signified to Simon mostly by the fact that who he’s bumped into is taller than him and has a considerably flatter chest.

He looks up and immediately, his heart sinks. With the amount of people at this school that he does not count among his friends one would think that he could run into a less unpleasant person than Jordan Kyle.

Maia’s ex-boyfriend has been on their case since Freshman year. It’s not so much that he wants Maia back. He just likes to make sure Maia and all of her friends know that he still has power over her.

For all intents and purposes, though, Jordan is more popular than any of Simon and his friends combined. And Simon gets it. Jordan is not only able to be possessive when he wants to, but also extremely adept at making people like him. Which, to Simon, makes him even scarier.

“Sorry,” he therefore says, trying not to stumble over his words. “I didn’t see you. Sorry.”

“Yeah, you said, dude.” Jordan gives him a once-over, that would make Simon shiver if he wasn’t so tired. He sends a pointed look after the guys Simon just swerved to avoid. “Still running around like a skittish dog, I see.”

Something deeply buried in Simon can at least appreciate the fact that he isn’t pretending to like him. It really is deeply buried, though. Mostly this is just making him mad.

“May I leave now?” he asks, and yawns. A scene in the hallway on the first day of school seems ill-advised even for his overcompensating brain.

Jordan raises an eyebrow. “Are you asking for my permission?”

And yeah, okay, he’s wishing that he could think of a quick reference right now. It’s not even important whether or not Jordan’s going to get it. Simon rarely comes out on top in these situations, anyway. But apparently, the best he’s going to be able to do is to shuffle off in silence.

“Well, manners maketh man, Jordan, or haven’t you heard?” Unless one of his beautiful, beautiful friends whom he loves so much comes to his rescue, puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles at Jordan in an impressive display of pleasantry.

Maureen doesn’t even wait for any further word from Jordan, just pulls Simon away gently and links her arm with his.

“Thank you,” Simon says, but Maureen just inclines her head. She hates responding to expressed gratitude.

“Off to a great start, as always.” She nudges him in the side and pulls him along in the direction of his band and her German class.

“As always,” Simon agrees and tries to shrug off the sticky feeling the encounter he’s left with.

 

* * *

 

Fortunately, Junior year means that Simon is now well-versed enough in cafeteria politics, that he knows how to head straight for the table him and his friends made into their usual spot.

Today, Maureen has been held up after their chemistry class, leaving Simon with Clary and Maia and potato mash. Awesome.

It’s not that his friendship with Clary and Maia changed much after they got together. It’s more like it’s merged. Which wouldn’t be such a problem, if the heartburn he generally experiences when he looks at Clary hadn’t multiplied exponentially and since the two of them had their first date occasionally occurred when he was with Maia only.

He would kill for swapping this problem with those of the neglected friend out of the first relationship.

As it stands, though, he’s trying to try his best to just keep up his friendship with both of them. It goes well to varying degrees, but it’s mostly fine. He’s fine.

Besides, Maia’s and Clary’s current debate on the merits of plain chocolate over Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups is a little too amusing for Simon to work up enough of an energy to really care.

“Okay, okay,” Maia says now. “You’re entitled to your wrong opinion, it’s fine.” Clary laughs, scrunching up her nose, and miraculously lets it go with a quick flick against Maia’s nose.

Then she turns to Simon. “So, have you heard anything from Rebecca, yet?”

“Oh, plenty,” he replies. “Apparently the first weeks of college are a sea of getting lost on campus, accidentally offending your professors, and trying to contemplate what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into. She’s a regular Sydney White scholar.”

Clary snorts. “Nice.”

“Is she doing rush week?” Maia asks around a mouthful of potatoes.

“No.”

“Good, because that’s an exploitative—"

“—archaic tradition, which adds to the societal dangers of peer pressure,” Simon nods. “She’s read the article you sent her. Incidentally, so have I.”

Maia looks pleased and Clary steals some of her peas. “So, are you free tomorrow afternoon?” she changes the topic, then.

“I’m babysitting Madzie again tomorrow.” He stuffs some potato mash into his mouth. “Why?”

“There’s an informational meeting for everyone who wants to go on the ski trip in December.”

“Oh, I’m not going on that, anyway.” He takes another bite, and only when he looks up does he shrink back at the paired horrified looks directed back at him. “What, what did I say?”

“What do you mean, you’re not going? Of course, you’re going? We’re all going!”

Maia nudges Clary in the side and says, a little more diplomatically, “Come on, it’s gonna be fun. Maureen is going. And we’re gonna be there.” Clary nods emphatically.

Simon flicks his eyes down and back up again. “No offense to either of you, but I’m not exactly hot on coming on a trip famous for its sex-inducing potential.” He tries hard not to blush at his own words, but a little nervous chuckle still escapes him. Before his thoughts can dwell on it, he waves a dismissive hand. “It’s going to be mostly couples, and I can’t even ski. It’s just not worth it.”

Clary smile has a wicked touch to it when she stabs her fork in his direction. “We’ll see.”

 

* * *

 

After his last class, and as soon as he’s pried a clinging and triumphantly screeching Maureen off his back (sometimes he wishes that his friends would engage in less weird competitions), Simon throws his backpack into his van.

It seems even more empty now, when students are piling into cars together and leaving in bulk. He used to drive with Clary most days, but since she started dating Maia, the two of them usually embark on their after-school plans together, and Maureen lives on the other side of town.

On the upside, this will mean that he’s finally in charge of the music. Simon swings himself up into the driver’s seat, and connects his phone to the car. Once _Run for Cover_ comes on, he takes a few seconds to drum his fingers against the steering wheel, before he sets back the stick and hears the engine come on.

Of course, being distracted by his own excellent taste in music, he forgets to check his rearview mirror for a second time. It’s only within the paradigm of this day, that that would be the moment a person walks into the path of his car.

As soon as the bumper collides with Jace Lightwood’s hip, Simon steps on the brake.

Boy, he’s not having any luck with the popular crowd today.

His shoulders slump forward and that’s his only motion for the next few seconds, since he’s now successfully all frozen up. He listens to the steps coming around to his side of the car, and he doesn’t dare look, when Jace leans down and knocks on his window.

With bees buzzing around in his stomach, Simon presses the button to let it slide open.

He risks a quick glance to the side, and immediately regrets it when he catches sight of Jace’s forearms coming to rest on the lower edge of the window.

Jace Lightwood became the object of Simon’s second song after Simon’s first ever real party. They had both been twelve years old, and Simon had been dragged to the party mostly against his will, all too satisfied with staying in at Clary’s and watching Buffy at the time. Once he had been there, though, a sharp thrill had shot through him, igniting a friendly hum of anticipation in his chest.

The night had been uncharacteristically eventful for middle school, until eleven of them had landed in a circle for a game of Spin the Bottle. Simon’s fidgeting hands had not, in fact, prevented Clary from pulling him in to sit next to her. And admittedly, Simon had hoped for a destined-to-be moment, had begged internally for the bottle to turn almost a full circle, leading to the – to him then seemingly – inevitable moment where Clary realized the ideal next step to their relationship.

The bottle hadn’t listened.

Instead, Simon had stared right across their circle into a pair of eyes where one was not quite like the other – still isn’t, actually; Simon had caught that from the one glance as well and he’s not sure how to feel about it. Of course, he had known the boy’s name, as well. Clary had been paying him _quite_ a bit of attention back then, and therefore _Simon_ had paid him quite a bit of attention, as well.

He had tried really hard to pretend like he hadn’t been impressed.

That had definitively been out the window, when Jace had raised a challenging eyebrow as soon as the bottle stopped. It had been a gesture which Simon remembers as definitely too smooth for a twelve-year-old to pull off.

He hadn’t been able to get his hands to stop fidgeting, but for good measure they did now also start sweating profusely.

Jace had been the first one to start bridging the distance between them, still that dare on his face. Simon, whose competitive nature had already been tickled every time Clary had snuck a glance at Jace in the hallway, had let himself get pulled in.

The kiss had been brief and Simon doesn’t remember most of it, but that hadn’t been important. What he had thought about for many days (and weeks) afterward, had been the look Jace had been donning afterwards. He hadn’t smiled, but it had been like his eyes had opened, flooding with intensity. It had felt transcendent over their circle, and Simon had been so caught by it that he had only been able to look away, when Jace had been distracted by his big brother coming to tower over him.

For once, Clary had been the farthest thing from Simon’s mind.

Jace and him hadn’t really talked after that.

“How’re you doing?” Simon asks him now, in a higher pitch than he would like.

“Not bad,” Jace responds in a jovial tone. “Just reminding myself that you can never be too careful with the daily hazards of automobile traffic.”

“Oh.” Simon is still staring straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge this reality that is his life. “Right. Good thinking.”

Jace nods, still so precisely casual that it reminds Simon of a lion pretending to be sleepy. “Are you sure that you should be in lawful possession of a driver’s license?”

“What, are you going to arrest me now?”

Jace laughs in that way, where it sounds like he’s forcing it out through his teeth, and Simon’s stomach coils tighter. The only motion he’s really capable of is pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Just do me a favour and check your mirror next time, or you might hit someone with a less sturdy condition than mine the next time around.”

That rips him out of his stupor. “Are you… bragging about being able to withstand someone hitting you with their _car_?” he asks incredulously.

Jace shrugs. “So far, there hasn’t been any evidence to suggest I shouldn’t.” And with that, he pounds his knuckles lightly against the car and takes off to leave.

After a few more seconds of stunned silence, Simon bangs his head against the steering wheel.

 

* * *

 

Fortunately, the next day of school goes significantly better, which is to say that he doesn’t hit anyone with his car, and doesn’t have any further run-ins with any of his friends’ exes. It’s progress.

As a result, he’s in a much better mood than yesterday, when Madzie rings the doorbell, ice cream in her hand. Simon is glad that she’s already having a popsicle, because he’s not equipped for the balancing act that is the decision on what to allow her for dessert today.

“Hey, little one,” he greets her, already waving the _Superstore_ DVD at her. “Ready to have your two hours screen time?”

She nods and shuffles inside.

Madzie had gotten adopted by Catarina Loss, the Lewis’ neighbor, seven years ago, when she was six. Back then she hadn’t spoken a word, ever, and although she’s still an extraordinarily quiet kid, even at eleven years old and upon entering middle school, she’s been talking to him and his family for five years now, which had prompted Catarina to employ him for babysitting services whenever she’d required them.

Simon has learned to love those afternoons. Madzie’s ready to listen to him, but has an unexpectedly firm grip on what she wants. It’s pretty awesome hanging out with her in general. But the times when he most connects with her is usually when they watch their shows together. So, he’s happy that he gets to allocate her designated screen time today.

When he gets to the living room, Madzie’s already building her nest of pillows. She looks up at him with serious eyes and pats the spot next to her. He follows her silent instruction, sits down and presses play on the first episode, scooting down to put his head next to Madzie’s.

One and a half hours in, she pokes him in the side. “Where are your friends?”

Simon chuckles. Madzie has a fascination with his girls. They spend the afternoons with them sometimes and unsurprisingly Clary and Maureen do well on a playground, while Maia has a – rather more surprising – knack for baking cookies.

“They’re busy tonight, I’m sorry.”

Madzie shrugs. “It’s okay.”

She burrows back under the blankets, but five minutes later, her voice emerges again. “Are you lonely?”

On the screen Dina and Amy are monitoring security footage, but Simon is busy making big eyes at the eleven-year-old next to him.

“No,” he says, in a perfectly fake tone of voice. He clears his throat. “No, I’m not lonely.” And he’s not. Lonely is… not quite the problem. “Who told you that I was?”

“Rebecca and Elaine.”

If possible, Simon’s eyes grow even wider and he begins to straighten up. Oh, their skype session on Sunday is going to get so uncomfortable. He’ll make sure of it.

“Yeah, well,” he stutters, “they’re wrong. I’m _not_ lonely!” She looks at him and shrinks away a stretch. He might have cleared that up a little too loudly.

Trying to soften his body language, he smiles at her. “I promise that I’m not lonely, Madzie. It’s just that sometimes, I can’t tell people everything that’s going through my head, and when you can’t do that, sometimes it hurts. But that’s going to be okay after a while.”

He breathes through the bout of unexpected sincerity. Catarina’s demand for emotional honesty from all persons of trust in Madzie’s life is something that sometimes leaves Simon with more therapeutic divulsion than he would like. Gauging from her eyes that she’s sufficiently pacified, he ruffles Madzie’s hair. “Now come on, I’m gonna make us dinner.”

He shoos Madzie off the couch and she disappears up the stairs, while he moves into the direction of the kitchen.

He can only hope that his pasta skills are better than his mother’s.

 

* * *

 

The following day, Simon has gym class. It’s his least favorite, not just for obvious cliché nerd-related reasons, but also because all his friends are girls, and their gym class takes place on Fridays. Simon on the other hand has to endure running around the track with all the other boys.

This naturally means that he’s fourth to last right now, taking a strange amount of pride in beating – amongst two others – the kid who got the cast off his broken leg a month ago. Although, that kid has been sticking his tongue out at Leon standing on the sidelines due to his asthma every time he’s passed him, so Simon doesn’t feel _too_ bad about it.

Overall, the run is going surprisingly well.

It gets a little suspicious, when the four of them at the end can look over to the opposite side of the track, where a power struggle seems to take place among the three people leading their class, until one of the guys overtakes the other two and speeds up, making Simon gasp for breath just at the sight of him.

He squints backwards, enabling Broken-leg-kid to get to fourth to last, but that couldn’t matter less to him when he watches the light reflected off the individual’s blond hair.

Simon tries to ignore the horrified feeling crawling up his arms. There’s no way that Jace is bursting forth from the orderly rows of marathoning because he wants to talk to Simon. There’s no way, there’s no way, there’s no way.

“Hey, Lewis.”

Oh boy.

“Listen, man,” Simon starts, as well as he can while he’s slowing down from a ten-minute long run, “I know that I’d have to compensate you for any damage I might have done to you with my car, but I’m really short on cash right now, so if you could just hold out a little bit—"

“Woah, woah, woah,” Jace interrupts him. “Slow down, you didn’t do anything to me. It was just a little shove, I can take it.”

“Oh. Okay.” Simon nods. “One follow-up: Couldn’t you have just hung back until I caught up?”

Jace shoots him a look that Simon interprets as bafflement as to the lack of praise Simon is directing at his athletic achievements, and shakes off the remark to get back to what is obviously a pressing point.

“I just wanted to tell you that I don’t blame you,” he says, slowing down their pace, so that they’re basically just walking now. Simon hopes that they’ll be done with this conversation before they pass their gym teacher. Jace continues, “Obviously, this has happened to me before, but I’m just not that interested.”

“Um,” is all Simon really has to say to that. “Okay. Just so that _I’m_ clear on what’s happening here: _Obviously,_ you’ve been hit by a car before, and you seem to have found pleasure in it, but you’re just not that interested in doing it again?”

Creases carve themselves into Jace’s forehead. “What?” he asks, like _Simon_ is the one making this weird.

Then, Jace pulls an unassuming envelope out of the pocket of his sweatpants and Simon’s stomach plummets.

His brain is good at this. Imagining all the worst-case scenarios toward which his life could be headed at any moment is just what it does. And this could easily be among them.

Hell, the fact is, he _has_ spent nights agonizing over the thought of the letters getting out, in _some_ convoluted, impossible way. His face has burned at the thought of what would happen if anyone were to ever read what he’s put down on those five pages. He’s never dared to even think of a melody to any of the lyrics that are enshrined on them. These songs he’s written are private to the point of absolute mortification.

It’s been a field day for the too-fast, too-sad corner of his head.

In his mind, this has just been a matter of time.

Which means he catches up quick. Which means the embarrassment takes only the quarter of a second to slam into him.

Oh _God._

“No,” he says out loud. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.”

They’ve come to a stand still on the track, just him and Jace and the cursed letter, with a string of their fellow students running on every side of them.

He bites his tongue, just to stop himself to repeating the same word over and over, even though it’s his only tangible thought right now.

His universe narrows down to just the godforsaken letter, clamped in Jace’s hand.

“Okay,” he says, which at least isn’t a ‘no’. “okay, okay. I know what this looks like.”

Jace raises an eyebrow. Apparently, he’s never kicked the habit.

“I know what this looks like,” he repeats desperately. “But there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything, that I wish I could think of right now.”

The eyebrow raises higher. “I’m sure,” Jace says slowly, like he has to make this very, very clear to Simon. “I just wanted to clarify that it’s never going to happen, that’s all.”

Simon tries to think of what the appropriate reaction might be here, he really, really does. But all he’s feeling is the gripping panic as all the implications of this terrible, no good, very bad incident race through his head. All he manages to get out, is, “Yeah, totally,” when he spots Clary.

Clary.

Coming down the path to the track.

Towards them.

Clary is coming down the path to the track towards them.

There’s an envelope in her hand, because of course there is. Simon’s really wishing he could faint right now.

“Oh God, no.”

“And I in no way want you to think that this is due to your diverse literacy,” Jace says with a tilted head, clearly lost on what’s going on.

Simon doesn’t care, because he’s very short of having a panic attack, and Jace is distracting, and Clary is still walking towards him, and she has a girlfriend who Simon really, really likes, and he’s going to blame what he’s going to do next on a temporary dissociation for the rest of his life.

He knocks into Jace so hard, they’re both going down. Simon lands on top and Jace gives off a painful-sounding ‘oof’. He doesn’t have time to apologize, though. He figures all etiquette is gonna be irrelevant in a second anyway.

“I’m gonna kiss you, okay?” he asks in what is the rashest decision he’s made in the last five years, at _least_.

“I— _what?_ ”

Simon grabs him by one shoulder, trying to convey the urgency of his situation while also not losing his balance. “Okay?”

Jace is gripping him under his ribs and in the back of his mind, it registers as surprise, when he gets the answer: “Okay.”

He presses his lips to Jace’s – and isn’t this very reminiscent of old times – in a brief and close-mouthed kiss, slowing the world down to just these few seconds.

Jace is still flailing, when Simon lets him go, all sounds of the outside world crashing in on him at once, and jumps up, fleeing from the track as fast as his warmed-up legs will take him.

So.

That happened.

 

* * *

 

It’s only once he burst through the side door into the hallway that he realizes that he has no idea what to do next.

He wrote embarrassing songs. Clary knows he likes her. To make her think he doesn’t like her he _kissed_ Jace Lightwood. Clary knows he likes her and she’s dating Maia. He kissed Jace and as far as he knows _he’s_ still dating Lydia Branwell.

Bathroom. This is definitely a bathroom situation.

Thankfully, the boys’ bathroom is empty, so that Simon can barricade himself in a stall and let out a breath that he feels like he’s been holding for the last ten years. Forcing himself to breathe out longer than he breathes in, he tries desperately to think of something, anything else. It doesn’t work very well, but at least he’s no longer in the immediate danger of being accosted by any recipient of his letters.

Distantly, he registers the clacking of shoes outside the stall.

“Simon?” asks a voice that decidedly belongs to a _girl,_ which Simon can mostly tell because he knows exactly who just made their way into the bathroom. Scratch the immediate danger part.

Immaculately manicured fingers slide a very familiar envelope under the door.

“Are you okay?” asks Isabelle, like she wasn’t just subjected to the creepiest thing Simon has ever done. Not that Simon has really done it.

“I’m really sorry,” he blurts out to preface anything he’s going to say next. He bends down to pick up the letter and folds it up carefully to stuff it into his back pocket. It just now occurs to him that he never took the letter back from Jace. Great. Just. Great.

“I never meant for these to get out,” he says instead of dwelling on it. One problem at a time.

“Yes,” Isabelle says from outside. He can see her heels on the other side of the cabin. “I figured. Do you maybe want to come out here? You looked a lot like you needed some comfort when you dashed in here.”

Simon thinks about it. Isabelle is almost a phenomenon at their school. She’s acing all her natural science classes, is gorgeous, always composed, and kind to a fault. It’s completely unsurprising to Simon that disliking her is a rarity. Unfortunately, that’s also about the extent to which Simon knows her.

Well. That’s not entirely true. He also knows that she’s a terrific dancer.

He’d dedicated the song to her the day after freshman homecoming. She’d asked him to dance where he’d been sitting in a corner and somehow hadn’t made it seem like she was just asking out of pity.

They had danced to one song in between the other embarrassed fourteen-year-olds and after that, Simon had figured that she would smoothly initiate the transition to another guy. Instead, she had stayed by his side until Rebecca had stood in the doorway with a raised eyebrow and the car keys dangling in her hand. They’d even had one slow dance. Simon remembers the smell of her best, and the warmth of the small of her back where he had rested his hand.

It had been a thrilling night, but the next day after he had stored away her song, Clary had burst into his room, draping herself across his bed dramatically and started an elaborate monologue on the glitter that had landed in Maia’s hair halfway through the night.

As soon as she’d finished and pulled his story out of him, she’d pushed him towards talking to Isabelle again, but every time Simon had thought of approaching her, something had gotten in the way. And truthfully, he hadn’t tried that hard. Isabelle is a girl hopelessly out of his league and most of the time she hangs out with a crowd of people that intimidate the hell out of Simon. It had been way easier to wallow in his feelings for Clary.

Still, Isabelle doesn’t seem like much of a threat now. There are way scarier things out there. Like redheaded best friends, blond jocks, and clowns wearing party hats.

Simon opens the door.

Isabelle is leaning against the stall in a black dress, looking like she was pulled directly out of a teenage drama on the CW. The smile she’s wearing is kind and understanding, though, and once again Simon is amazed that someone hasn’t actually _married_ her yet. Seems like the most sensical conclusion to knowing her.

“It was a nice homecoming we had,” she says. “I was hoping that we would talk more after that.”

It’s an unexpectedly warm thing to hear after this morning of panic and shame. “I would’ve liked that. I’m not really the sort of guy to approach girls, I’m sorry.”

She tilts her head, and it’s frighteningly reminiscent of her second oldest brother. “There’s always time to make up for that now.” She closes her eyes for a second, like she’s internally debating what to say next. When she looks at him, though, she looks no less determined. “I do just exclusively like girls. You knew that, right?”

He did not, in fact, know that until this very second. “Sure,” he says and barely trips over the word. She gives him an indulgent smile. “Good for you, girls are awesome.”

“It’s true, they are.” She shares a conspirative smile with him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “But if you’re not one of those guys who believe in the friendzone, you’re welcome to talk to me anytime.”

“Wow, you really do live up to your reputation, don’t you?” Simon says without really meaning to. She chuckles into herself.

“One day, you can tell me about your letters, Simon Lewis.” She lets her hand slide down his arm and straightens up from the wall of the stall. With one more genial smile, she passes him to leave the bathroom.

Simon looks after her, with a strange sort of bafflement. Then, he thinks of something. Right before she can push open the door, he tells her, “Oh, by the way, you might get some weird reactions from your brother today.”

She turns around, intrigued. “Which one?”

Simon raises his hand over his head to indicate Jace’s height. “Blond, cocky, and athletic?”

Isabelle bites her lip as if she’s trying to hold back laughter. “Thanks for the warning,” she responds without the former sincerity – apparently she finds the idea of her siblings becoming anymore ridiculous laughable; frankly, Simon can relate – and then she’s out of the bathroom, and Simon is left with the feeling that his day just became a little bit better.

 

* * *

 

For the rest of the day, he mostly tries to bury his panic, so it just comes out in bursts, where he temporarily feels like throwing himself off a bridge, until some distraction can make him forget everything for five minutes. It doesn’t go so well. His thoughts are spinning faster than the particle accelerator giving Barry Allen abs.

It’s not a great day.

And it doesn’t get better when his mom and him go over to Catarina’s for dinner.

As soon as Catarina puts the casserole on the table, Simon knows that this is going to go further downhill. His mother and Catarina are usually pretty discreet, but they’re also both mothers very in tune with their children and today Simon _hates_ that.

“How was school, monkey?” Mom starts it off, innocently enough. She hasn’t called him monkey since he came back from his trip to Lake Michigan with Luke last year, something which his dad had done with him every summer when he was still alive.

“It was okay.”

“You seem jittery,” Catarina states calmly and squirts some more ketchup onto Madzie’s plate.

Simon does a wave-y gesture that supposed to come off as casual, but he knows better. The both of them aren’t stupid. “There was some stuff. I accidentally mailed some things that shouldn’t have gone out.”

Catarina and Mom look at him like they don’t quite understand what’s got him so anxious, but they will accept it as the usual high-school-crap their children will go through at one point.

Madzie, on the other hand, gives off an uncharacteristic little gasp. Simon looks at her fleetingly, but gets stuck on the big eyes she’s making.

“You okay there, Madzie?” he asks, not even mostly to redirect the adults’ attention. He still succeeds on that one, though.

“Madzie?” Catarina regards her daughter carefully, typical for her sensibilities towards her child. “Do you have something to say?”

“I’m sorry,” she says to Simon, slowly and carefully, like she does when she’s trying to convey a genuine emotion she’s feeling. Then she pushes back her chair and gets up, leaving her food behind, something which _she never does,_ as she disappears in her room.

Catarina puts down her napkin. “Simon, will you come with me to talk to her, please?”

His eyes widen in horror. He’s so not equipped for this. “Do I have t—" He catches a glimpse of his mom’s expression. “It’s a child’s welfare, clearly that takes precedence over my petty problems, let’s go, Catarina.”

He follows her into Madzie’s room, where the little girl is sitting on her bed.

She holds up a stretch of stamps and looks at her mother. “I’m sorry,” she says again and Simon’s heart breaks a little.

He’s a weak guy, what can he say?

“Madzie, did you have something to do with Simon’s mail problem?”

She nods. Simon’s heart sinks.

“Did you send out the letters?” he says, his voice more of a croak than anything else. She nods again. “Why?”

Madzie shrugs. “You told everyone, now. You said you couldn’t tell everything.”

Oh man.

“I—" His voice is going on the rise, he can feel it, and this is so not fair, it’s not fair, because he catches Catarina’s warning glance from next to him, and he _knows_ that it’s not right to yell at a kid right now, but _God._ He wants to let it out, irrationally and with all the intensity with which his feelings are gripping him. Just once. Just today. He wants it so badly.

He takes a deep breath instead.

“Madzie.” He kneels down in front of her bed, looking up at the little girl who just wanted to help him. “Do you remember how I told you yesterday that I _couldn’t_ tell anyone everything that’s going on with me? That wasn’t because I really needed to. With some things, you just have to be careful.” He swallows. “It’s very good of you that you don’t want me to be sad, and it was very clever what you did, but you should have talked to me about it. You can’t steer other people’s lives however you want them to go, okay?”

She’s still looking at him, and he does so hope that that’s the emotionally functional way he was supposed to resolve this in.

He extends a hand towards her and she takes it, pulling herself in to wrap her arms around his neck. He squeezes her lightly.

Over her head, Catarina meets his eyes and gives him an approving nod.

 

* * *

 

He flees to _Java Jones_ to make up for his only half-eaten dinner. After their talk with Madzie, Clary had texted him that she’d come down to talk, which he had heroically reacted to by hastily telling his mom that there was a friendship emergency he had to attend to.

He orders himself a coffee, because he’s had too few of those today, and a milkshake, because he really is still hungry.

When the waitress places both before him with a smile, he takes a sip of the coffee and then puts his head onto his arms resting on the table.

He doesn’t think he’s exaggerating when he says that this might have been one of the most eventful days in his life. He can’t wait for it to be over, but at the same time he’s very nervous about what tomorrow holds for him.

“So,” someone drawls beside him, “I have to ask: Do you always kiss the people who just rejected you?”

Simon groans. This cannot possibly be happening to him.

Slowly, he drags his head up from his arms, and looks directly into blue and brown eyes.

“Trust me,” he says and is suddenly very, very tired. “I’m perfectly okay with your rejection. In fact, I return the sentiment. It’s a rejection based on reciprocity. A mutual denial of affection, if you will.”

Both of Jace’s eyebrows rise to meet his hairline. “Really? In that case, I think you should re-examine your inner dictionary.”

Simon takes a long sip of his milkshake and then one of his coffee. He needs all the support he can get for this particular conversation. “My dictionary is fine, thank you. I’m sorry about kissing you and stuff, but I can confidently tell you that it wasn’t about you.”

Jace snorts. “Who was it about, then?” Simon looks down to his drinks. How nice it must be to live out life as a simple cup of coffee. “No really, tell me what the hell happened this morning.” His voice grows more insistent, and when Simon looks at him out of his peripheral vision his amusement has been tinged by a touch of anger.

For the first time, it occurs to Simon that Jace might actually be confused about how Simon behaved and that he’s entitled to an explanation. Simon had just assumed that Jace wouldn’t care about anything he did. But to be fair, a kiss is a pretty invasive statement. He can see how it would throw even someone like Jace.

He sighs and turns on his chair so that he’s facing Jace. “Alright. I know you got a letter from me, but I didn’t actually send it. There was a little girl who misunderstood some things and she mailed five letters that I’ve written over the years. One of them got to you, obviously, but another one was addressed to my best friend. You might know her. Wait no, of course you know her, you still knew me, and she had way more to do with you, she sat behind you last year in World History, and she’s been at the same school as you since middle school—"

“Simon!”

“Right.” He shuffles around on his chair and rights his glasses. “So, I wrote Clary one of these songs a while ago, but she’s my _best_ friend and she’s dating Maia, and anyway, she was there this morning, so I had to kiss you, because she can’t think I like her, that would destroy—well, pretty much everything for me.”

He’s not sure how to interpret the look Jace is wearing. He seems pensive, condescending and irritated, all at the same time. It’s sort of impressive.

“So, you’re not in love with me then?” he asks gracefully (and thankfully). Simon silently shakes his head.

Jace waggles his eyebrows. “Because the lyrics were sort of intense.” Simon tries to keep down his blush. He _really_ does. (He doesn’t succeed.) “Again, I can’t blame you, Lewis, I’m sure you’re not the first one to compose an ode to my body.”

“Oh my God,” Simon exclaims. “It’s not an _ode_ to your body, shut up.”

Jace makes a sound that kind of sounds like an aborted laugh, but could also very well be a snort of derision. Simon is betting on the latter. “You’re not in love with me. But you’re in love with Clary, yes?”

Simon squirms on his seat. “It’s complicated.”

“Uh-huh.” Jace nods, like he knows exactly what that means (and he probably does, Simon is a terrible liar.) “Who did the rest of the letters go to?”

“I’m not telling you that.” Simon scratches the back of his neck. He wouldn’t actually mind revealing the identities of Victor and Raphael, but he thinks that Jace might have something to say about the fact that Simon checked off two of the three Lightwood siblings that’re eligible for him to have a crush on.

“Fine,” Jace shrugs. “I’ve got a date, Lewis. Just make sure not to kiss any more unsuspecting guys who’re just trying to reject you.”

Simon lamely raises a hand as a goodbye gesture, as Jace hops off his chair.

He wants his bed.

 

* * *

 

Simon spends Thursday at home, because his mom is awesome and pretends to buy his fake-sick routine. He buries himself under his blankets and peaks out from under them to still catch Jake and Amy dancing around each other on the screen of his laptop, only interrupting his wallowing to have a quick skype call with Rebecca, who’s pretty much the only escape he has from the current madness that is his life.

Around lunch, the texts start pouring in. Their group chat blows up with well wishes, and then they move on to informing him about everything that’s been happening over the course of the morning.

Simon reads them, puts his phone away and returns to Amy putting Jake and Captain Holt in their place on Halloween.

But then Maia texts him specifically, and it’s time to panic again.

_[Maia:] seriously, are you okay?_

_[Simon:] yeah_

_[Maia:] you’re not rly sick, right? Rebecca texted me._

_[Simon:] dammit!_

_[Simon:] your friendship with my sister has gotten way out of control!_

_[Maia:] ;) ;) ;) ;)_

_[Maia:] so really, you’re okay?_

_[Simon:] i’m gonna be_

_[Simon:] needed the day off ya know?_

_[Maia:] sure_

_[Maia:] but did smth happen?_

_[Simon:] not really. just one of those days_

_[Maia:] really_

_[Simon:] really_

_[Maia:] reeeeeaaaaaaaally?_

_[Simon:] Alright what did you hear_

_[Maia:] nothing_

_[Maia:] not a thing_

_[Simon:] dammit, maia!_

_[Maia:] fine_

_[Maia:] Maureen and clary wanted to do this in person, but_

_[Maia:] when did you decide making out with a LIGHTWOOD on track was a good idea?!!_

_[Maia:] and why THIS lightwood?_

_[Simon:] alright alright_

_[Simon:] is this perhaps going around at school as we speak?_

_[Maia:] Maureen had stars in her eyes when she told us_

_[Maia:] tho she did verbally rip apart the jerk who doubted the credibility of the rumor WHILE he told it to her._

_[Simon:] that’s my girl._

_[Maia:] anyway is this why you’re staying home today?_

_[Simon:] not quite_

_[Simon:] can we talk about this tomorrow?_

_[Maia:] ofc_

_[Maia:] it’ll be okay simon._

_[Maia:] we’re here and we can wait._

Simon puts down his phone and returns his attention back to Holt and Rosa crying. So, Clary didn’t tell her girlfriend that he wrote her a goddamn love letter. He doesn’t know what the hell that means.

 

* * *

 

He goes back to school the next day, because it’s the mature thing to do, but mostly because his mom had given him a look and he had dashed out of the house before she could follow it up with any words.

He tries to pick the most inconspicuous parking spot and keeps his head down all the way into the school.

He begins to have hope to maybe make it to the class room, until he inevitably gets grabbed by the back of his sweater and pulled into a literal broom closet. He’s not proud to say that his first reaction is a lot of spluttering, and then a very pathetic squeak.

“What the fuck?” he says when he’s feeling literate again.

“I need to talk to you,” Jace tells him in a conversational tone that is wholly unsuited for the situation.

“And you couldn’t do that, you know, like a _normal person_?”

“We need the privacy.” Jace looks at him like that’s the easiest concept in the world.

Simon shakes his head a little, aghast. “Who are you, James Bond?” Then he looks around, assessing his environment. “Aren’t these things usually locked? Did you _steal a key for this closet_?”

Jace leans back against a shelf with cleaning supplies. “Do all conversations with you entail having to wade through an endless sea of babbling before we can get to the point?”

“You’re evading my questions and class starts in ten minutes.” Simon tries crossing his arms, knocks against a broom and a box of insect repellent, and gives up trying to find a more comfortable position. It’s unfair how Jace can still exude easy confidence in a supply closet. “What do you want?”

“I was thinking about your dilemma with Clary,” Jace says. The expression in his eyes is worrying with its casual cunning. “And I thought that I could help you out.”

Simon narrows his eyes. “Help me out how?”

Jace pulls up one corner of his mouth, making him look a little wicked. “We could just make everyone think we’re together. Pretend a little…” His voice jumps into the insinuating on the last part.

Simon stares at him for a few seconds, uncomprehending. _“What?”_

“We could let Clary and everyone else think that we’re really dating. Your problem would be solved and it could only do wonders for your image.”

Simon barely even hears him. He’s still stuck on the part, where—“Your solution is to _fake-date_ me?”

“You know, the walls of this closet aren’t made of steel.”

Simon rubs a hand over his face. He thought they’d hit peak weirdness when he’d kissed Jace on the track. But apparently, Jace always needs to have the last word in things. “You have a _very_ steady girlfriend, how would that even work?”

“Actually, that won’t be a problem.” Jace’s jaw clenches. “After our little talk at _Java Jones_ on Wednesday, Lydia and I broke up.”

Simon looks up to the ceiling with a sardonic smile. “So, basically, you wanna use me to make your ex jealous, and this isn’t a self-sacrificial offer at all.”

“Well,” Jace says, and doesn’t look sorry one bit. “Yeah.”

Simon thinks his ears might literally be ringing from the metaphorical explosion Jace just set off. “Quick question: Are you gonna stab me in the back if I leave this room?”

“Only if you throw the first punch,” he responds smoothly. “I’m assuming that’s a no.”

Simon makes a grab for the door knob.

He throws a hasty look at Jace’s face, which is all tensed up now. “I’m sorry about your break-up,” he says softly. “And I’m sorry I can’t help you out, but I just—can’t. This is really out of my league. Bye, Jace.”

 

* * *

 

He can feel his friends’ anticipation radiating through the room the entire time ‘til lunch.

Predictably, they pull him out to under the bleachers, when class is done, all three of them opening their bags and evenly distributing the illegal Subway they bought during their last break.

“—and two for Simon,” Maureen finishes up her recital of their meals. “That’s it, now spill.” She looks giddy, which is somewhat different from Maia’s patient restraint with curiosity in her eyes, and the put-on excitement Clary’s displaying. Simon presumes that he’s the only one who’s picking up on that last one, though. Her eyes are boring into him with a ferocity that has the potential to fracture him into a million pieces. He can’t bear to look at her for too long.

“Um,” he says. Probably not a good start. “What’s to tell?”

_“What’s to tell?”_ Maureen shrieks, while Clary snorts. “You kissed a guy in front of all the guys in our class, who we had no idea you even liked. There’s a lot that I wanna know.”

Simon can’t help it, he has to laugh a little at her overbearing enthusiasm. Her normalcy, if awkward for him at the moment, has something comforting to it. “Okay, then ask me something, you know I’m bad at this.”

Maureen bops her head obediently. “First of all, did you really kiss Jace Lightwood on the track or was any of that doctored by the rumor mill it got to me from?”

“No, that. Happened.”

“Okay,” Maia says. “ _How_ exactly did it happen?”

“He caught up to me on the track, and I sort of… knocked him over. And then I kissed him.” He’s resolved to stay as close to the truth as possible, since he is indeed a godawful liar.

“But…” Maureen says, seeming to lose her thread of questioning.

“Why?” Clary jumps in, more sharply than strictly necessary. Simon really hates that tone. And worst of all, he has no idea whether it’s because he’s presumably lied to her about Jace, written her a love song, or avoided her the past few days. It could be all three of those things.

It’s probably all three of those things.

Looking at her, the guilt sinks down in his torso, weighing him to the ground.

“I… wanted to,” he says hesitantly, trying not to make it sound like a question.

“You, _pause,_ wanted to,” Clary repeats, leaning forward. A strand of hair escapes her ponytail and falls in her face. “Yeah, that’s very convincing.”

“Clary—" Maia looks at Clary tentatively, like she’s preparing for an eruption. If he’s being honest, so is Simon.

“No, Simon, really. _What_ exactly was it? Jace doesn’t really seem like your type.”

Simon crinkles his nose and tries not to let his clammy hands get in the way of pushing his glasses upwards. “I’m sorry?”

If possible, she leans forward a little further. Maia and Maureen have gone eerily quiet. “He doesn’t really seem like your type.” She puts a lot of emphasis on the _p._

“He doesn’t—" Simon sucks in a bout of air. “Clary, you were the first person I told that I’m into guys, as well as girls. Jace is a guy. Jace is a clever, witty, unfairly gorgeous guy who plays _soccer_ and is surprisingly unfazed by pop culture references. What _exactly_ about him sounds like he’s _not my type_?”

Clary’s eyes are burning now, her hands on her knees, like she’s ready to leap at him. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fact that, in the last few years I haven’t heard you mention him, except to bemoan the fact that he looks like a preening peacock. And I don’t blame you, because the guy can be a real jackass! So, I would just like to know, that if you feel so strongly about him that you feel the need to accost him in the middle of your gym class, why haven’t I heard anything about it until today?!”

Simon doesn’t know what to say to that. Luckily, Maia finds her voice again. “Clary,” she says calmly, like her girlfriend isn’t about ready to have smoke coming out of her ears. “Simon isn’t _obligated_ to tell you anything, so let’s all calm down a little, maybe.”

“I don’t _want_ to calm down,” Clary says sullenly, but she sits back and crosses her arms.

There’s two fingers tapping his forearm. When he looks to his right, Maureen is looking at him with trepidation in her eyes. “You don’t have to answer,” she prefaces. “But why haven’t you told us anything about Jace, yet?”

Simon throws his hands in the air, helpless. “It kind of hit me out of the blue. I haven’t really liked anyone in a mutual way in… well, _ever,_ and I’m having kind of a hard time with the beginnings. I like him a lot, but to this point nothing’s really been sure, yet.” He’s kind of breathless when he finishes.

“So what, you’re dating him now?” Clary spits.

Simon inhales sharply. Jace offered, he reminds himself. “I guess so,” he seals his fate. Clary is staring at him in the most venomous and harried way, and he wraps his arms around himself.

Well, fuck.

 

* * *

 

The rest of his classes crawl past in a swirl of anxiety. He doesn’t have a chance to talk to Jace at any point, so he resolves to follow him to after-school soccer practice.

He can’t bring himself to walk fast enough to catch them after they come out of the locker room and before practice begins, which means he ends up at the sidelines of the field, trying to get Jace’s attention.

Currently, Jace is doing some exercise involving weaving around some sticks, which Simon is not even going to begin to pretend to understand the use of. He can, however, appreciate the way Jace is focusing, his movements under his complete control. He wasn’t lying when he told Clary that Jace is unfairly gorgeous. When he finishes his run, he looks up and his eyes lock onto Simon. Absolutely unfairly gorgeous.

Simon beckons him towards himself with one finger, because at this point, he really doesn’t have anything to lose.

If he isn’t suddenly suffering from hallucinations, Jace flashes him a quick smile, before he makes his way over to him.

“Are popular sports locations going to become a thing for us now?” he asks, stopping just in front of him. Simon wonders, if Jace already knows what he’s come here to tell him, because he’s standing so close that Simon can practically feel his chest heaving.

“Let’s skip the babbling this time,” Simon says, waving a hand between their faces. “Gonna get straight to the point this time: If your offer’s still on the table, I’d like to accept.” His knuckles are going white where he’s clutching the strap of his backpack.

Jace looks at him blankly. “My offer to…?”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t make me say it.”

“No, no, no,” Jace says, amused. “Let’s hear it. You accept my offer to… what?”

“I accept your offer to pretend to date you, in order to get your ex to take you back, because you’re deeply, desperately in love and can’t live without her, you jackass,” Simon says, and cringes at the memory of lunch. _The guy can be a real jackass,_ he hears Clary echoing through his head.

Right now, though, what takes precedence is his immediate wish to take back his statement, when a self-satisfied smile locks into place on Jace’s face. “You don’t say.”

“I say.” Simon’s fingers drum along the strap. “But we’re gonna need to get the details straight, so we should meet somewhere later.”

Jace turns serious. “We can meet at _Java Jones_ again,” he allows. “I can be there at seven.”

“I can do seven.” Simon nods and dreads the next part, where he doesn’t know what to say next.

He doesn’t know whether to be relieved or not, when one of Jace’s teammates passes them in a jog and calls, “Just kiss him, and come play, Lightwood.”

“Please, I can outplay all of you, even when the game isn’t the only thing I’ve got going on, Raj,” Jace calls back without looking away from Simon. Then, he raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you want to?”

“Do I wanna what?” he asks. He’s a little dazed from the amount of time they’ve been staring at each other.

Jace runs a hand through his hair. “I’m going to kiss you, okay?”

Simon’s eyes widen. His torso feels like someone blew soap bubbles into it. “Okay,” he says out of a short circuit of his brain.

This time, it’s Jace who’s moving in, sliding a hand around his neck, his thumb stroking along the base of his jaw. Simon’s not sure how much touching is allowed, so all he does is to rest his hands lightly on Jace’s hips, and tilts his head up.

Their lips don’t meet for long, but it’s still exponentially more intense than their last two kisses. He can feel Jace’s breathing along the lines of his body, and his heart is pounding in his throat, something that is only overshadowed by the warmth of Jace’s mouth and the touch of their noses alongside each other.

When Jace pulls away, Simon’s breathing is labored, feeling like he’s the one who’s in the middle of a soccer warm-up.

Jace moves his thumb along his cheekbone, before he turns away, with a last look and a casual, “See you at seven,” breaking into a run to join his teammates – five of which clap him on the back and one of which whistles (badly) – leaving Simon dizzy.

 

* * *

 

Mr Cohen looks back at him patiently, when Simon finishes a cleaned-up version of the last few days, that hopefully makes it sound like he’s still in possession of his basic mental faculties. Apart from a few questions to follow the story, he hasn’t interrupted Simon, fallen to the ground or ripped his hair out in despair of Simon’s stupidity. Simon takes that as a good sign.

Not that Mr Cohen has or would ever do anything like that. He’s good at his job. He’s been good at it, ever since Elaine had first brought Simon to his practice after his dad’s death.

“That’s a lot to happen to you in a few days,” Mr Cohen says. Simon hums. “How were you able to handle your reaction to all of this?”

“There’s been a lot of fear,” Simon admits. “Two panic attacks and one night of almost no sleep.” He rubs his forehead. “I think I feel the guiltiest about my fight with Clary.”

“When was the last time you two fought?”

Simon furrows his brow. For a moment, he’s not sure he even knows the answer to that question. But then a memory surfaces. “Years ago, right before we had our little middle school graduation. There was a thing where we were almost late, because Clary had to get new shoes at the last minute and me and my mom had to drive to pick up Rebecca to pick her up from a friend’s house first.”

Mr Cohen hums. “And who ended up taking the blame on that one?”

Simon thinks back. “Me, I guess.”

“Have you ever gotten so mad at Clary that you’ve initiated a conflict?”

“I don’t think so.” Simon doesn’t like where this is headed, Mr Cohen sounds like he has a point to make.

“Why do you think that is?”

Mr Cohen looks at him expectantly, and Simon’s heart goes up into his throat. This part always makes him a little nervous. “I’m probably afraid that she’ll stop liking me and leave,” he says, resigned, but when Mr Cohen nods at his answer, there’s a little swell of pride in his chest.

“It’s a short-term solution, but long term it may have dysfunctional consequences,” Mr Cohen explains. “When you take all the responsibility for a conflict that isn’t all your fault, you can end up with an imbalance in your relationship. Your needs aren’t met, and her needs will almost be met _too much._ ”

“So, you’re saying, I shouldn’t go grovel as soon as I leave this room?” Simon says, half-jokingly.

“I’m saying that before you say anything to her, I want you to take another glance at the material I gave you on apologies, and we can talk about it some more next week.” Mr Cohen leans back in his chair. “Now, talk to me about your new boyfriend. How have you been feeling about that?”

“Um,” Simon says and ducks his head. “Excited. Hesitant. Worried.” His smile is crooked as he tries not to let his thoughts wander into the territory of ‘What the hell did I get myself into?’. He looks at his therapist. “What do you think?”

Mr Cohen leans forward and takes a few seconds to consider his words. “I think that, for years, you’ve been very careful about knowing the people in your life. You know your family and your friends so well, that you can anticipate their actions with relative accuracy. You’ve built yourself a security that you need. But you’ve been neglecting the part where you need to strike a balance between stability and not running away from your fears. You don’t know Jace. You can’t anticipate him. And on top of that, he outwardly personifies some of the traits that might remind you of negative experiences you’ve had. You’re diving right into your fear with this one.”

“But that’s good… right?”

“It’s very good,” Mr Cohen nods. “But I imagine that it’s also going to be… fearful. For you.”

Simon does a nervous little half-laugh. He hates that laugh. “Yeah. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You’ll remember that we’ve talked about how thinking less might benefit you from time to time.”

Simon nods solemnly. And he agrees. In the last few years, it’s been the little things that could give him the feeling of having achieved something just for himself, when he turned to the functional mechanisms, instead of giving into the swirling, all-consuming panic waiting for him at every corner.

This is much bigger, though. And it’s scary.

“We need to take the right precautions,” Mr Cohen continues gently. “But we can do that. We’ve done it before.”

“Will I be able to handle it?” Simon asks, and even to him his voice sounds terribly small.

The answering nod is thoughtful, but genuine. “I think what we need to get at is for you to express your needs frankly.” Simon’s heart is going crazy and Mr Cohen smiles that smile of his, like it’s all going to be alright. “No code and no jokes, Simon. That’s the only thing you can really influence on your own.”

 

* * *

 

By the time he meets with Jace, he feels like he’s put his heart through a marathon. A marathon, granted, that he’d have run just as he is, without any training or fitting footwear.

He’s exhausted in that relaxing way he remembers from his panic attacks shortly after his dad died. Like nothing will throw him anymore, simply because he wouldn’t have the energy to be thrown.

Jace slides into the booth across from him and immediately the waitress comes over to take his order. Before he says anything to Simon, he orders himself a cappuccino with a smile and a wink.

“Oh hello,” Simon says, when Jace’s eyes are finally resting on him. “I didn’t know I could blink out of existence for a few seconds and then reappear as if nothing happened.”

Jace rolls his eyes. “Hello, Lewis. Always nice to exchange unconventional greetings with you, that might be considered rude in other settings.”

“ _You_ might be considered rude in other settings,” Simon grumbles, spelling a smug smile onto Jace’s face, which is just so easy to hate.

He opens the notebook placed before him. “So, let’s do this. I was thinking we could lay down some rules.”

“Is this going to be a binding contract? Should I call my lawyer?” Jace crosses his arms on the table, and grins freer than Simon’s ever seen before. “What kind of _rules_ do you think we need?”

Simon twists his pen between his fingers. “Something, like… no more kissing, for example.”

He looks up into an incredulous face. “You don’t want me kiss you anymore?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Simon says, with a smidge of frustrated sarcasm.

“A little,” Jace says, not ashamed at all. “But more to the point, how do you think we’re gonna make people believe that we’re together, if we can’t even kiss?”

“I think I’ve seen you kiss Lydia in public once,” Simon states. “You’re clearly one to talk.”

“We kissed more than that. Maybe you didn’t look hard enough,” Jace waves him off, with an insinuating tone. “So, what’s your deal with kissing?”

Simon gives a short laugh. “I’m sure to you it’s perfectly normal to go around and kiss everybody, but to me it’s pretty much the opposite of typical. You’re the only guy I’ve ever really kissed.” He tilts his head, considering. “Actually, you’re the only _person_ I’ve ever really kissed.”

For a second he could swear that there’s something heavier than simple astonishment passing Jace’s face, but when he blinks it’s gone and only mild shock looks back at him. “Fine,” Jace says. “No kissing, write it down.”

Simon obliges. “There’s a lot of other stuff that shows intimacy without a kiss being involved.”

“Do we need to regulate that, too?”

“Let’s just put down that the limit on physical contact is kissing, and with anything else we’ll establish boundaries on an individual basis.” Simon makes a little note under the No Kissing rule.

“I should’ve got a lawyer,” Jace says under his breath, but continues on when Simon goes to glare at him tiredly. “What else?”

“We should probably do things for each other,” Simon says, not quite convinced himself.

But Jace actually perks up at that. “You have a truck, right? You could drive me and my siblings to school.”

“You guys don’t have cars.”

“We don’t have cars,” Jace confirms. “Or licenses. Our parents are weird about that.”

Simon shrugs and writes it down. Jace looks like he’s mighty proud of himself, but Simon decides to ignore it in favor of making a request of his own. “What’re you gonna do for me?” he asks, a challenging undercurrent to his tone.

Jace picks his nails and takes a moment to think about it. At least that’s what Simon will tell himself, because the nagging thought that Jace can’t think of anything nice to do for him in the back of his head isn’t very friendly.

When he finally talks again, Jace’s voice has dropped to a lower register. “I could get you a gig.”

Simon’s head shoots up. He’s not sure if Jace knows what that means in his head. “What?”

“You do your music, right? Play with your one friend who everyone seems to know?”

“Maureen.”

“I know some people, I could get you a spot at a café I know.” Jace folds his hands, like he’s not giving Simon one of the best chances of his life. Simon is too floored to interrupt him. “Is that something a good boyfriend would do?”

“No,” Simon says slowly. He has to stop himself from leaping across the table and hugging the hell out of Jace. “It’s what the _best_ boyfriend would do, that would be amazing, Jace!” He’s pretty sure he’ll get a cramp from the smile on his face in a few minutes, and his exhaustion is the only thing keeping him from ranting away.

Evidently, Jace is not quite as comfortable with his joy as he is with his exasperation, because he’s just sitting there, looking sort of dazed, while Simon shimmies on his seat.

“One more thing,” he says, then. “Rule number four: You come on the ski trip with me.”

It’s Simon’s turn to raise his eyebrows and then draw them together. _“Why?”_

“There are some things that’re customary for the couples of this school,” Jace shrugs. “If there’s to be no kissing, we should demonstrate our togetherness in other ways.”

“You want me to give into peer pressure,” Simon deadpans.

“Absolutely, yes.”

Jace looks at him so seriously and Simon just stares at him for a few moments. The ski trip is in December. He doubts that they’ll still be doing this by then. Jace’ll have gotten back together with Lydia and he’ll probably be helplessly smiling back at Clary, staring after her ponytail swinging left and right as she leaves for her date night. Unless she still hates him then.

“Alright.” Simon closes the notebook and smiles a little shakily. He extends his hand, holding it out for Jace.

All he gets is a confused look. “What are you doing?”

Simon pulls his hand back and puts it back out again. “We’re shaking on it,” he says decidedly. Jace huffs out a laugh that either means disbelief, disdain or genuine amusement. Simon doesn’t want to know which one it is.

Placing his hand on the notebook, he shoots Jace a thoughtful look.

“I’ve been wondering about something,” he says. “What’s gonna be your story? I mean, you dated Lydia for what, a year? And two days after the break-up you’re hooking up with some nerd who could easily fit in with the guys from _The IT Crowd_? Isn’t it gonna be really transparent, what you’re doing?”

Jace takes a sip of his cappuccino and looks at him over the rim of his cup. “Not to her. At school there might be some rumors, but there always are. My teammates know that Lydia and I’ve been having some problems over the holidays,” he admits, though he looks like it physically pains him. “The only real problem is my siblings.”

“Actually.” Simon winces. “Your sister might already know what’s happening.”

Jace narrows his eyes. “Why is that, Simon?”

“So, there were three other letters, right?” Simon shrugs, trying to act casual, although he’s feeling anything but. “One of them _might_ have gone to her, and she _might_ have tracked me down to talk to me about it.”

Jace closes his eyes in defeat, but in the end all he has to say to that is, “Ah. That explains so many of the innuendos of the last few days.” Then he cheers up visibly. “Anyway, that’ll make it easier. I can convince Alec that I genuinely want to date you, and Max doesn’t care about my relationship status.”

“If you say so,” Simon says, trying to convince himself that this is Jace’s problem, and that his recent increased visibility isn’t beyond scary. “It’s your family.”

“Who you’re going to spend the mornings in a death trap with,” Jace says. Simon tilts his head. Obviously, there are some car-related issues Jace has to work through. “By the way, you should prepare yourself for Max flinging change at you. Alec isn’t a morning person, and he eggs him on.”

Simon throws him a look, horrified. “I’m beginning to think that your family has some real _Pleasantville_ complexes.”

Jace grins, and it has something shark-like. “And we’re going to be all yours for the next few weeks.”

Simon raises up a hand. “Okay. You know what, we’re about finished, so you can leave now.” He’s surprised how light-heartedly they’re conversing now, almost like they really are familiar with each other.

Jace goes to grab his jacket. “See you Monday at my place,” he says and slides over a piece of paper which has what appears to be his phone number and his address on it. “Don’t be fazed by Izzy bringing her bag of toiletries. She never finishes on time.”

Once again, Simon tilts his head and slides it forward with an incredulous look, but it’s wiped from his face, when he remembers what he’s worked out not two hours earlier.

“Oh no, actually wait a second. I have just one more thing. To say. To you.” Simon runs his finger along the sides of his glasses.

Mr Cohen was right. He can’t read Jace.

And it mutates the next part – that he has to get out, that is just essential to him not having a heart attack at sixteen years of age – into the most terrifying thing he’s done in years.

“I’m gonna need you to listen to me,” he says. His fingers are dancing around each other and his eyes are glued to them like they’re the new edition of Mass Effect. “I know that you have your whole biting wit thing going on and whatever’s working for you is fine. _But_ ,” he takes a deep breath, “that can be a trigger for me. Sometimes. So, I’ll need you to listen when I tell you that I have a problem with what something you did.” He swallows. His mouth is dry, but it feels like the right procedure for the situation. “Okay?”

At that moment, he couldn’t be happier that his heart has already exceeded its limitations for today, because otherwise it would be hammering away right now. That would make looking up and straight into Jace’s eyes a lot harder than it already is.

As it stands, though, he looks up, ready for any condescension that might be thrown his way.

To Simon’s vague surprise, which he registers in passing thought, condescension seems to be the farthest thing from Jace’s mind. There are three creases between his eyebrows and his mouth is pressed together in a serious expression, but with Jace – this much Simon is learning – it’s all in the eyes. They’re looking back at him right now with an intensity that goes straight to Simon’s spine. He doesn’t know what Jace is thinking, like he would with Clary, but he’s happy enough with the authenticity he sees, the startling openness to what he’s saying.

He’s aware that the moment lasts five seconds, at most, but it’s enough for Simon to feel like he’s witnessing a fundamental shift.

“Okay,” Jace says.

And that’s it. His therapist is a goddamn genius.

 

* * *

 

The weekend actually provides him with a welcome break from all the madness that his life has spun into. He catches up on schoolwork that had gotten lost in his spiraling thoughts over the course of the week, ignores the fact that Clary’s making no attempt to communicate with him, has dinner with his mom, Catarina and Madzie, and finishes his _brooklyn 99_ rewatch. All while spending multiple hours not being plagued by the gigantic cloud he’s been carrying with him since Wednesday. It’s a small, but significant relief.

He also spends some time on the Instagram feeds of the Lightwood siblings, Lydia Branwell and their friends. Overall, he learns that Jace’s eyes aren’t the only feature about him that can leave Simon feeling exposed, that, opposed to his older brother, he’s not afraid to get shirtless for his feed, that Lydia is acutely aware of the dangers of divulging too much information on social media, and that Isabelle intimidates him even more than he previously thought.

All in all, he can’t complain.

On the night to Monday, though, his sleep gets more restless, and then he’s on, getting into his van and driving to the Lightwoods’ residence. It’s an impressive building, the sort of house that has _wings_ and probably a huge stair case Simon could dramatically walk down on. There’s a winded path of pebble stones leading through the front garden, which the Lightwoods now walk down one by one.

The first one to climb into his car is the Lightwood Simon’s never seen before, except for one picture on Isabelle’s Instagram. Max Lightwood is taller than Madzie, and there’s a spark in his eyes, that completely differentiates him from her.

“Good morning,” Simon greets him with as much cheer as he can muster up. In order to nail this first trip, he had gotten himself an extra espresso shot in his coffee.

“Morning,” Max says. “Can you drive me to my karate class tomorrow?”

“Max,” Isabelle warns, and gets him after him, crowding her little brother to the right. “Don’t make the first thing you ever say to Simon a demand.” She sends Simon a charming smile and deposits a bag of toiletries between driver’s and the passenger’s seat, pulling out an eyelash curler in a smooth gesture.

“I said ‘Morning,’” Max mumbles, but he sits back and pulls down his seat belt.

“Morning,” Alec says darkly, narrowly avoiding bumping his head on the back door. “What is that smell?” Max perks up, but Isabelle clamps a hand over his mouth before he can say anything else.

Jace slides into the passenger seat, and shoots Simon a look that gives off definite _I told you so_ vibes. Despite the dark amusement he’s radiating, Simon is desperately happy that he’s here, because while not even he’s normal, at least his is becoming a familiar weirdness.

“It’s coffee,” Simon answers Alec. “The good stuff.”

He starts the car, just when Alec makes a grab for his cup and inhales the rest of its contents.

Simon sighs deeply and Jace makes a sound akin to a snicker. These are going to be long weeks.

 

* * *

 

After they drop Max, who Simon is pretty sure at one point tried to offer him drugs, off at middle school, Simon parks the truck as close to the school as possible, because Alec looks like he’ll literally kill him if he doesn’t.

“Thanks for the ride, Simon,” Isabelle, who’s apparently insisting on him calling her Izzy, says cheerfully, while she gets out behind Alec whose _Thank You_ had consisted of a simple grunt. “Don’t hang back for too long, you two.”

As soon as she throws the door closed, leaving the toiletries bag _behind in his car,_ Simon turns to Jace. “Do _all_ of you guys have a line for ‘seductive innuendos’ reserved under Special Skills on your CVs?”

“Well, I do so hope that Max doesn’t,” Jace says calmly. “That would be wildly inappropriate for an eleven-year-old.”

Simon nods like an idiot and hopes that Jace picks up on the fact that he won’t take the initiative leading to them getting out of this car.

“Do you think you can handle being eye candy to my eye candy?” Jace asks, proving once and for all that Simon’s telepathic abilities totally work.

“You might have to take the lead on this,” Simon admits, fiddling with his sleeve. Jace raises a _no shit, genius_ eyebrow, but he doesn’t comment, instead picking up his bag, opening the door and jumping out more elegantly than Simon’s ever managed since having learned to drive in this car.

Then Simon has to rub his eyes, because Jace is coming around the front and throws open the door on his side as well, pulling out Simon’s backpack and looking at him expectantly. Simon scoots down and drops both feet on the ground. Jace hands him his backpack and then they’re rolling.

They’re not holding hands or anything, but Jace manages to let them fall into some kind of easy conversation, when he starts something he clearly can’t finish – “So, Max made me watch that weird plane crash show on the weekend, and so far, it’s incredibly stupid,” he says and Simon splutters spectacularly – keeping them in a proximity that’ll seem intimate to an outside viewer, and at one point he grabs onto the strap of Simon’s backpack, connecting them in the weirdest – and weirdly also a surprisingly affectionate  – way possible.

Using it, Jace steers him through the flow of students all rushing into the front doors at once. He’s unexpectedly graceful in the way he’s able to get them both in the right direction unscathed.

It looks like Simon’s discovered the first trivial advantage of dating a guy who chases a ball for fun.

 

* * *

 

At his locker, he is accosted by a person wrapping their arms around waist from behind. From the smell reaching his nose and the hair tickling his neck he deduces that it’s Maureen. Good. She’s definitely easiest to talk to right now. Especially with Jace standing right next to him.

Maureen squeezes him once, before she lets go and comes around, smiling and showing what Simon thinks must be all her teeth.

“Careful,” Jace drawls. “I might get jealous with so much enthusiasm.”

Maureen dims her smile, like she usually does when meeting new people so she doesn’t scare them away, and extends her hand to Jace. He shakes it with a polite, friendly expression as they exchange names that he’s never worn when looking at Simon. That’s a little stab to his insides.

He smooths out his frown quickly, and pokes Maureen in the side. “You look happy.”

She looks away from where she’s assessing Jace with much and _obvious_ interest. “I am happy,” she says. “Ms Bachmann is sick, and she only called it in, like, twenty minutes ago, so they can’t get a substitute here fast enough.”

Simon looks at her in wonder. “And you’re not mad that you turned up at school at this godawful hour for nothing,” he says, in a tone of wonder that suggests that he’s discovered a new species of trees or something. “You amaze me.”

She looks about ready to stick her tongue out at her, but he can see how she pulls herself together in front of company. “Unfortunately, not all of us can be dangerously addicted to caffeine. Some of us need to carry society where it needs to go.”

Her tone is easy-going enough, only carrying a bare edge of mirth. Jace, however, appears to find it unbearable to let a conversation pass without having said something at least every two minutes. (Although he had been surprisingly quiet in the car, save for three comments about Simon hitting little old ladies with his bumper, content with exchanging looks with Simon in the rearview mirror, which got increasingly smug from his side.)

“Is it true, Simon?” he asks entirely too close to Simon’s ear for anyone to be able to expect Simon to have a reasonable thought process. He can’t even recall when Jace positioned himself so close behind him. “Do you think you have a problem?”

Simon turns around to fix him with an evil look, which somehow means that he almost bumps into Jace’s cheek with his nose. Jace has a barely-there dimple when he smiles. Huh.

He can _feel_ Maureen’s glee.

“He gets the jitters if he doesn’t have his morning dose,” she chats away like she isn’t internally cheering right now. And in fact, Jace probably doesn’t hear how giddily curious she sounds right now.

“Simon,” Jace exclaims, widening his eyes to a comical level. “You could have told me. We can overcome this.”

“You’re both jerks,” he says, trying to glare in two directions simultaneously. “I have a healthy attachment to a delicious beverage. Trust me,” he says to Jace, “I’m not even the worst one.”

He drops the books he needs for the day into his backpack between his feet, and regrets saying that at all. The thought of Clary alone is apparently enough to put a damper on his this far relaxed mood.

He moves away from Jace to pick up his backpack and slams his locker shut. He has no idea which elective Jace has to get to now, but Jace isn’t making any moves that point towards him departing, so Simon just starts walking towards the music room.

“That’s true,” Maureen tells him meanwhile. “Never let Clary near you when you’re in the mere proximity of a place that sells coffee. You’ll end up with an armful of cups before you know what hit you.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Jace says, probably more for their benefit, than for his. He’s keeping up with Simon no problem, and at the mention of Clary, he turns his look towards Simon slowly. Simon determinedly stares ahead. They’ll be at the room in two minutes, tops.

“She says it’s an artist thing,” Simon explains, because he’s a sucker and also weak. “But you shouldn’t believe her, she’s just a hopeless victim of consumerism.”

Jace juts out his chin in understanding. It looks kind of ridiculous.

It’s the first time Simon can say that about him, and it’s scary how much more endearing it makes him.

“You guys are cute,” Maureen states bluntly.

It’s weird how sometimes Simon can anticipate exactly what she’s going to say, and other times it’s just a surprise as to what’s racing through her head at any given time. This is one of the latter instances. Simon rarely likes those.

Jace on the other hand seems to have expected it. Or at least, he doesn’t seem surprised.

“Thanks,” he says easily.

He wraps his hand around Simon’s wrist, and Simon’s thoughts grind to a halt just to start running in a completely different direction.

His arm feels like it’s spent a little too much time with Medusa. It occurs to him how absolutely useless he is at this. It must look ridiculous, the way his arm just hangs there.

Luckily, they reach the music room just then, and Jace releases him again when they come to a stand still just beside the door.

“Alright,” Maureen says, apparently satisfied by whatever she’s seen in the last minutes. “I’m gonna go annoy some different couples now.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Simon says, and Maureen ruffles his hair.

“I’m gonna hold off the shovel talk for a bit, so you don’t see it coming,” she tells Jace, and without further ado she turns and disappears into the masses.

“I feel like I passed some sort of test.” Jace sounds thoughtful, but also like he genuinely liked Maureen, which is no surprise at all. Everyone likes Maureen. Why she hangs out with him is a mystery to Simon.

Simon himself, is still a little stuck on the fact that Maureen called them a _couple._ Couple, couple, couple. It sounds weird in his head.

“Oh God,” he groans, “as if you need more material to pepper up your ego.”

“My ego is always in need of care.” Simon rolls his eyes. The worst of it is how serious Jace can make it sound. Maybe his elective is drama. “It’s similar to my hair that way.”

“No,” Simon says. Then he raises a finger in disbelief. “I’m walking away now.”

“Have a good class, Simon,” Jace calls after him, and it sounds so uninhibited that, just for a second, Simon can believe it’s real.

 

* * *

 

When he gets home that day, he throws himself on his bed and finally gives into the urge to scream into his pillow.

It had been _fine,_ is the thing. Any mention and thought of Clary had been a bummer, which is bad, because he tends to think about Clary a lot, but otherwise it hadn’t been so bad. At lunch, Jace and him had ditched their friends to compare time tables and some personal information (Simon had insisted, because he still feels borderline criminal doing this whole thing, and the least he can do is be prepared), and he had even been able to focus on his classes. Maia and him had kept it casual when they had talked during a break, and Izzy had smiled at him consequently when they caught each other’s eye over the course of the day.

Overall, it evens out to a _fine_ day.

And he had felt utterly useless.

He opens his laptop with a sigh. Rebecca wants to skype about some documents she left at home and her deadline is today, before Mom comes back from work.

The familiar ringtone rings in his ears, and when he accepts the cool, his sister is _beaming_ at him.

“You have a _boyfriend!_ ”Rebecca crows in an unacceptably loud volume.

Simon’s shoulders drop. “I’m going to kill Maia. You know it’s not actually normal how much you know about my life, right?”

She completely ignores him. Figures. “I should give you advice more often,” she says thoughtfully. “Clearly, I have a previously unknown influence on you. I shouldn’t abuse it.”

“You’re such a terrible person.”

“Yes, but I have informants on the inside,” she says, unbothered. “And they’re telling me that you’re dating,” she looks down at her phone, “quote unquote _a sugar-coated jock-y peacock in a pretty shell._ That’s like the high school jackpot, I’m so proud..”

“I’m the luckiest man alive,” Simon says. Then he furrows his brow. His sister is the most experienced person with romantic relationships (that’s currently speaking to him in an uninhibited capacity) he knows. “Can I ask you something?”

“Oh, anything. Recent experience has shown that I’m awesome at this mentoring thing.”

Simon facepalms. “Seriously, Rebecca, can you not make this weird for once in your life?”

“Oh no. You know I’m not the one to come to with feelings.” She gives a mocking laugh, but her expression sobers when she takes a look at his worried face. Then she sighs. “Shoot.”

“How the hell do you do the casual PDA thing?” he asks, desperately pretending that it’s not one of the weirdest questions he’s ever asked. “Jace is really good at just… being a couple. I have no idea how he does it. He just keeps so close to me without even _trying_ , and I just feel like a flailing mess, the _entire_ time.”

“Simon, relax.” She laughs, but to Simon’s relief it’s not one of her mean sister-laughs. She’s embracing her warm big-sibling-mode now. “You’re really good at being affectionate and tactile, you just shouldn’t _think about it._ Somehow, that just never ends well for you.”

“I don’t know.”

“I do. Don’t worry so much about doing what everyone expects.”

Simon pushes up his glasses.

“You’re allowed to believe that he likes you as much as you like him.” Rebecca flips back her hair. “God, I’m so wise.”

Simon snorts in derision, because otherwise he’ll start shaking. “I hope college is kicking your ass.”

“Seriously, just let yourself be you, Simon,” she says. And then, because she’s incorrigible, “Now, let’s get to my expert judgement on how _not_ to break a sink.”

 

* * *

 

To Simon’s surprise, the next day at school passes in a similar fashion. He’s still struggling with the easy affection, but he didn’t choke on his coffee once while driving the collective Lightwoods, and Jace actually smiles at him in the rearview mirror. His friends are still tiptoeing around him and Clary, but after Jace had hooked a finger in one of his belt loops and whispered a goodbye in his ear in view of everyone in the mess hall, they had separated for Jace to finish a last minute project in the library and Simon had had lunch with the girls, which didn’t end with him in the bathroom gasping for breath. It’s the little things.

He’s still glad when he’s back in the safety of his house, with his mother having gotten off work early. As soon as he enters the kitchen, though, she informs him that they’re going to take on providing for Madzie’s bake sale, since Catarina isn’t getting home early enough and has a natural aversion to store-bought cupcakes. Something which Simon decidedly doesn’t share.

_“Why?”_ he’s lamenting, and lamenting still, when the doorbell sounds and Mom herds him towards the door, while she continues her struggle with measuring the flour.

He doesn’t know why they’re having so much difficulty with it, but it’s already in every corner of the kitchen _and_ on his face and her pants.

He opens the door with a defeated expression and isn’t even surprised when it’s Jace standing on his front porch.

“Didn’t I _just_ drop you off at your house a few hours ago?” he asks, just to make sure. This morning, Alec had stolen his coffee again, so Simon isn’t putting it past himself that he dropped off three of four people at the Lightwoods’ and leaving the fourth one in his car.

“What’s that on your face?” Jace asks back.

“Darn it, can you still see the cocaine marathon I just had with my mother?” Simon leans on the doorknob. “You know, they’re just never worth the clean-up, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Are you _baking_?” Jace sounds like the idea alone is ridiculous. Simon tries not to let it get to him. It’s easier than he’d think, mostly because in the kitchen his mom lets out a little yell of frustration, which is pretty telling on how much they use their cake pans.

“We’re making cupcakes for the bake sale of the eleven-year-old next door,” Simon says. “What’re you doing here?”

Jace is looking at him like he’s about to recruit him for a trek through space and time, in all his seriousness. “I’m here to take you to the party.”

“What party?”

Jace sighs impatiently. “Raj is having a party tonight and we’re going.”

An image of him standing next to Jace in a crowd of laughing soccer team guys flares up in his mind’s eye. He’s already having enough trouble with four Lightwoods in his car morning and afternoon, and not jumping erratically whenever Jace goes in for bodily contact. “No,” he says.

He should have known that Jace wouldn’t take that answer without a fight. “I thought you’d say that,” Jace says smugly. Like he’s proud that he was able to guess that. It twists something in Simon’s stomach. “Which is why I didn’t ask you beforehand.”

“What’re you gonna do? Throw me over your shoulder and chain me to the steering wheel?” He glares at Jace, and then rears back when Jace wriggles his eyebrows. How is this happening to him?

The thing is, he’s not actually opposed to going to a party. He figures that it’s something that Mr Cohen would sanction as a functional way to get his mind off of things. He also figures that _some_ booze won’t hurt him a bit.

So really, Jace already has him halfway there, if there wasn’t the nagging thought in the back of his mind reminding him of his hopeless social inadequacies.

“Simon,” his mom calls from the kitchen. “Who’s there?”

“It’s just—" He closes his eyes and sighs. “Just a friend of mine, Mom, don’t worry about it.”

“Hello Mrs Lewis.” Jace grins gleefully as he stabs Simon right in the back. “Is it okay with you if I kidnap Simon for the evening?”

Her head pops around the corner, and then she’s coming out of the kitchen, looking at Jace over Simon’s shoulder.

“Are you going to roofie my son?” she asks suspiciously and waves him off, when Simon groans, “Mom!”

Jace puts his hands in his pockets. “Absolutely not, Mrs Lewis.”

“Call me Elaine,” she says and smiles and shakes his hand and Simon is _disgusted._ She turns to him and raises a hand. “You’ll be back here between twelve and one. I know I can’t keep you from experimenting—"

“No.”

“God knows, I’ve collected my own experiences in my time—"

“Nope.”

“I’m just asking you to do it responsibly. Protection in every conceivable way.”

“Mom, I’m begging you to stop.”

If Jace were his real boyfriend, maybe he would step to his side right now, burying his burning face in his shoulder. As it stands, he starts fiddling with his sleeve instead.

She gently pushes him out the door, uncaring that there’s still flour on his face. “Go, honey.” She puts her hands on her hips and squints back at the kitchen determinedly. “I can handle a few cupcakes.”

Jace looks at him triumphantly. Simon bets that this is exactly how the stone on Caesar’s assassination got rolling.

 

* * *

 

When they enter Raj’s house, Jace holds him back in the foyer leading to the living rooms.

“Hold up,” he says. “There’s something we’ve got to do first.”

Simon looks at him with a wrinkled forehead. “Oh, is this the part where you offer me the good stuff and tell me all the cool kids are doing it?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re not as funny as you think?” Jace asks, after he scoffs and twists his mouth.

“More often than you seem to believe,” he responds and to his surprise he doesn’t have to fake the unbothered tone, more relaxed now than in all the days of the last week combined. He knows that none of his friends are going to be here, and the car ride had been soothing in an unusual way. Jace had sat next to him, pretty and quiet, and Simon had managed not to follow any catastrophe scenarios down the rabbit hole they were luring him towards. The pride of it had carried him up to the front door, so he ignores the weird way Jace contorts his face now. “What do we need to do?”

“New lock screens. I thought of it on the way here.” He fishes his phone out of his pocket and Simon smiles instinctively for the camera. He’s still of the digital generation after all.

When Jace lowers the phone, he looks at the screen and raises an eyebrow. Not as skeptical as Simon’s used to, but more like an acknowledgement approximating being impressed.

It loosens a lock on Simon’s mouth. “Hey,” he says, “I’m a little worried about your friends. Can we not do that thing where you disappear into your group or leave me alone with them?” For a few seconds he’s left holding his breath, as he waits for Jace to scoff again.

And then he does. “I wasn’t planning on leaving you anywhere you don’t want to be. I’m a gentleman, Simon, come on.”

Simon laughs, short and relieved and slips back into the heavenly mode of being just so relaxed that none of his limbs are prickling with anxiety. “ _Are_ you, though?”

Jace doesn’t even take the time to glare at him. “Give me that.” He grabs Simon’s phone out of his hand. He holds out the phone in front of him, snaps a picture and hands it back to Simon.

Simon squints at the screen. “I don’t like it.”

“You’ll get over it.” Jace starts moving towards the door behind which the music is playing and Simon hurries to keep up and stay by his side.

“I’m just saying, you look like you’re trying to lay an egg.”

Jace puffs with outrage. “I what?” He pulls Simon’s phone to him, without ceasing his movements and apparently without considering that Simon is still _attached_ to the phone, so he half-drags Simon to stand in front of him, when he finally stops in front of the door. “It does not look like I’m laying an _egg._ ”

It sounds like it’s hurting him to even get the words out, his face twisting in insult. It’s cute, but even funnier than that, so Simon gives a quiet, little laugh that can barely be heard over the noise from behind the door. Jace’s eyes flit away from his phone, fixing onto him. A little bit of the tension fades from his expression.

“As if you could do better,” he says, but his voice has lost a fraction of its hardness.

Simon is so distracted by that alone, that he doesn’t much think about it before says, “Alright, come here,” and opens the camera on his phone, while simultaneously pulling down by his neck. He smiles into the lens and completely ignores Jace’s baffled huff at being manhandled. The surprise effect is pretty much the only advantage he has against Jace on the physical plane of things.

The picture is not bad. His smile looks a little dopey, but flabbergasted is a much better look on Jace than his practiced selfie-face. He looks softer around the edges.

Satisfied, Simon clicks to make it his lock-screen.

 

* * *

 

Jace navigates the room with an ease that astounds Simon, in that typical jock-fashion like he’s ripped straight out of a high-school movie set. And still, he manages to make it seem considerate, the way he’s greeting everybody, without much flourish to it.

It’s different from the way Clary slips into a room, drawing eyes to her because she’s looking like an escaped woodland fairy, and then for an entirely different reason when she opens her mouth and pure smart stubbornness spills out.

Jace’s easy handshakes and smiles also differ from Maia, who’s always quick to make people feel welcomed, even with sarcasm dancing in her eyes. Or from Maureen, who’s never noticed as quickly as the others, but who can talk to everyone she meets, gathering contacts so fast that Simon is convinced she could easily start her own intelligence agency.

Maybe this feels so weird, because he’s usually surrounded by pretty much only women, Simon ponders. Or maybe Jace’s hand in his is melting his brain. He really feels like it’s not working at the same fast-paced capacity it usually is.

Anyway, Jace sure has this party etiquette thing down. Simon barely has to do anything but let himself get pulled along and trying not to look like he’s attempting to figure out who to avoid in this room. Number one on his list is currently Jordan, sprawled out on the couch in the middle of the room, and then Lydia, blonde hair drawn up into a bun signaling her presence to him from the corner.

Jace stops at a table designated to beer pong for the night and lets go of Simon’s hand to greet Raj.

“Hey, Simon,” Raj says, then. He’s directing a genuine, if small, smile at him and Simon returns it. He feels nervousness skittering up his body, but before he can worry about what the hell he’s supposed to say after ‘What’s up’ Jace puts his hand in the small of his back to steer him away.

He raises a hand towards Izzy on the other side of the table, who’s currently pulling down Alec by his neck to look him in the eyes and presumably threaten him with something worse than death if he misses a shot. Simon looks at them, until Jace manages to spin them around and start walking towards the refreshment table.

“Hey Lewis,” one of Jordan’s friends calls over to them when they pass the couch.

Simon’s eyes widen. This is probably bad. Jordan doesn’t seek them out, but he makes a habit out of talking to him and Maureen whenever they’re in his proximity (because, wisely, he seems afraid to talk to Clary.) It’s his way of keeping tabs on Maia. Which, from experience, doesn’t bode well.

Jace slides his hand away over Simon’s hip, and says into his ear, “I’m going to get us drinks,” and then he’s gone.

“That’s nice,” Jordan says. “Volunteering to be Lightwood’s rebound, you’re a real stand-up guy.”

Simon stares at him in disbelief. It stings, sure, but overall it’s such a bizarre insult, he doesn’t really know what to say. A few seconds pass, until he startles himself out of his stasis. “I’m sorry, what?”

Jordan is generally equipped to make him uncomfortable only by being near him, but Jace is right there in the back of the room, and Simon remembers how he’d looked at him when he’d asked for him to listen. So, he keeps looking at Jordan.

Who looks mildly frustrated. Which, with him, can always develop into genuine rage at any minute. “I said—"

“Yeah, I heard what you said,” Simon interrupts him. “Just gonna give you a minute for maybe thinking of a better line than that.”

Jordan narrows his eyes. “What’re you doing, dude?”

“Oh Jordan,” Simon says wistfully. “If only there wasn’t such stigma against being a dumbass, your life really would be much easier, wouldn’t it?” He grins, and it’s not shaky, which feels _awesome,_ and then Jace is standing behind the couch with two cups, so he gets the hell away.

There’s no way he’s staying for what Jordan is going to do next.

 

* * *

 

They find a place on the terrace, where there’s one couple making out vigorously and a guy who’s in the year above him and who he’s sometimes seen alongside Izzy, but isn’t familiar with otherwise. Jace seems to know him, though, which doesn’t surprise Simon in the slightest.

“I’m Meliorn,” the guy says and leans over the patio table to extend his hand, after he exchanges some weirdly shady words with Jace.

Simon shakes his hand. “Simon, hey.”

“Jace tells me you play the guitar,” Meliorn says, and Simon shifts around a little on the bench. Not only is Meliorn’s expression indecipherable to him, giving away nothing but non-committal calmness, but also his voice is smooth in a way Simon’s seldom heard before. It’s unsettling in two wildly different ways.

“Yeah, I do,” Simon answers, and then his brain short-circuits. His movement on the chair is halted by Jace’s hand on his knee. Since they’ve started the whole pretend-dating thing, he’s noticed that Jace is good at compensating for Simon’s inability to move around in a space, quietly sure in getting them where they need to go by giving him impulses through physical contact. This is the first time he’s gone beyond light touching, though. His hand weighs heavy on Simon’s knee, simultaneously stilling him and pulling his heart to flutter in his throat erratically.

He almost doesn’t hear Meliorn say, “That’s interesting. I myself play the drums.”

“What?” Simon asks, and has to shake himself internally. Meliorn smiles, tranquil. “Sorry, that sounds great.”

“Oh,” Jace says absently at something that catches his eye through the window, and Simon head swivels to look at him. “Be right back.” He squeezes Simon’s knee once more and gets up. Simon’s eyes track him walking through the room, and when he disappears out of his line of sight he catches onto Izzy walking towards them.

She rounds the corner and drops into Meliorn’s lap, more elegantly than anyone should have the right to.

“Hello,” she says, taking Meliorn’s chin between two fingers, and giving him a kiss on the nose.

“Did you win?” Simon asks, pointing to the table where Raj is setting up a new game, although he’s suspecting that the answer is yes, but with a significant loss on their side as well.

“Of course we did,” she says easily. She flips back her hair, somehow avoiding to fling it into Meliorn’s face. “What are you guys talking about?

Meliorn smiles down at her with the fond expression of the designated sober friend that Simon’s only ever spotted in the mirror. “I was just telling Simon about my music.”

Simon nods and leans forward. Looking at Izzy reminds him of the fleeting feeling of an imprint on his knee. “So, what do you play?”

And then they’re off, because Meliorn’s pretty awesome, well-versed in music and checks off none of the stereotypical jock boxes that Simon would have to worry about, other than his detached coolness. Izzy interrupts here and there, and Meliorn expresses interest in hearing him play, and it’s sort of fun, really. He hadn’t expected that.

They stay like that for about twenty minutes, before Jace comes back. “Let’s go,” he tells Simon. He exchanges a look with Izzy, who raises her eyebrows at him. It seems like she knows _something,_ but she won’t lay it out now.

Simon shrugs. “Okay.” He gets up and puts down his cup on the table. “Bye, have a nice evening,” he says, nodding at Izzy and Meliorn. Izzy waves after him and Meliorn pulls her upright when she loses her balance.  
Jace slots his hand back in place on the small of Simon’s back and they navigate their way through slightly more drunk people than half an hour before to the front door.

 

* * *

 

They end up at _Java Jones_ , because Jace had said, “It would’ve looked suspicious if we hadn’t left together,” and Simon had asked, “Hey, you wanna stop for a coffee?” because Izzy had raised her eyebrows and Jace’s jaw is clenched and he’s a sucker.

So, now they’re sitting at a table, both with a cup of coffee in front of them. Jace looks down at his. “Is this how it usually starts with the addiction process?” he asks, but even Simon can hear the edge in his voice. Maybe his jaw is cramping from all the clenching.

“Better caffeine than heroin, I always say.” He raises his cup, and takes a sip, immediately burning his tongue. He tries to wince quietly. “So, I know you prefer brooding handsomely, but in the spirit of doing this whole mad thing as functionally as possible, do you maybe wanna tell me what happened back there?”

He attempts to school his face into his best open listening expression while simultaneously hiding his morbid curiosity.

Jace breaks open a packet of sugar and pours it into his coffee with a vicious ferocity. Simon almost thinks he’s not gonna answer, but after he’s stirred the sugar into the coffee with the ugliest sounds Simon has ever heard from a cup, he does speak up. “I ran into Lydia in the bathroom,” he grumbles. “It went _fantastically._ ”

“Ah, that’s rough.” Simon tries his best to keep his brain from imagining what the two of them could’ve got up to in twenty minutes, he really does. “She doesn’t want to get back together?”

Jace lifts his cup up to his face. “No, she does not.” Strangely, his voice sounds more relaxed saying that than during the rest of their entire conversation since they left the party.

“I’m sorry,” Simon says genuinely. He looks down at Jace’s phone that’s been pinging at least fourteen times in the last five minutes. “Is that your sister?”

“No, it’s her.” Jace shrugs. “I’ll write her back tomorrow.”

“You—You’ll write her _back?_ ” Simon asks. He furrows his brow in incredulous amusement. “How often exactly do you converse with your _ex_ -girlfriend?”

Jace glares at him, but Simon tries not to take it personally. The guy’s obvious flaw in logic isn’t his fault. “She’s practically best friends with my brother. It’s quasi-impossible not to be around her.”

Simon inhales sharply. “Sure. I always hang out with my sister’s friends. Oh no, wait a minute, the last time I did that I was eight at her birthday party and they chased me out of her room with actual sticks.”

When he looks up from his coffee, Jace is still glaring at him. “It’s not like that in our family.”

Simon bites his tongue before he can let out another, drawn out ‘Sure’. “I’m serious, are you sure that this is the best thing for you? It’s like you’re purposefully making yourself miserable.”

Jace lets out a short, bitter scoff, but magically the tension drains out of his face when their eyes meet. All that’s left is a twist of his mouth and the echo of his laugh. It’s enough to give Simon whiplash. “It’s not like I want it to be like this.”

Simon’s eyebrows jump. “Yeah? Then prove it. Don’t write her back tomorrow.”

“Do you really think I’m that easy to get?”

“I really, _really_ do.” He’s grinning now, immensely enjoying the petulant look Jace is giving him.

“You’re impossible.”

“Whatever, dude, you’re totally gonna try to hold out tomorrow.”

“Alright.” Jace takes a long sip of his coffee. “Let’s turn this around: How come you’ve liked at least five people over the course of your life and yet you’ve never had a single boyfriend _or_ girlfriend?”

Simon’s glee dampens down somewhat. His shoulders hunch forward an inch. “Jerk,” he grumbles, and then says, louder, “I dunno, I’m not the most popular guy. I guess I’ve just never been at the receiving end of anyone liking _me._ ”

“That’s crap.” Simon’s head snaps up at the bluntness of his tone. Jace isn’t even looking at him, but at his coffee as he takes another sip.

“Hey!” he protests, but it’s weak and he’s kind of wishing for Jace to continue.

“It’s crap,” Jace repeats, fixing his eyes on him. His expression is sober, as opposed to the careless anger he displayed minutes earlier. “Your friend Maureen asked you to prom two years ago. Jeremy from my team tried to ask you out at least thrice last year, when he sat next to you in AP Music Theory. I’m sure there are more examples that I don’t know about. You would have had a chance.”

“Yeah, well…” he says, staring. “I bet not as many people liked me as there are people who liked you.”

“That’s a bizarre argument.”

“You’re a bizarre argument.”

Jace scoffs again, but this time it’s lighter. “Okay, Simon. Now stop dancing around the point.”

“I really do know that I’m not the most appealing guy to date,” he says earnestly. For some reason it’s important to him that Jace knows he didn’t lie. “But I guess the other part of it is… fear.” He gulps down his anxiety. “If I date someone, there’s a good chance that I’m gonna get left at least once, probably more often. The really simple thing about it is just that I’m afraid.”

“To lose people,” Jace says, and Simon likes to think he’s sounding a little hoarse.

He bites the inside of his cheek and forces himself not to rant this out chaotically. This part’s always hard. “Yeah, but it’s not really about the losing part. It’s more about me having driven them away.” His hands dance little circles around each other. “I like having a small circle because most of the time I can believe that they still like me enough to stick around.”

Sometimes when he’s sitting in his room in the middle of the night, it bubbles to the surface, that it’s probably good that he’s there alone. Late nights and morning twilight in their unique surrealism make him fuzzy, serene. They pull more truth out of him than _Veritaserum_ ever could.

He chuckles with a ducked head. “Also, there’s the inability to control my mouth.”

Jace weighs his head from one side to the other. He looks remarkably unfazed by Simon’s uncomfortably candidness, but at the same time he isn’t showing any disinterest like he’s feigned before. He seems awake in his own mind. “How you handled Jordan wasn’t bad,” he says. “You’re pretty quick on your feet, when you don’t get so nervous that you spiral into one of your bewildering tangents.”

Simon shrugs. “Nobody’s ever really impressed. Usually those interactions only end well for me when one of my friends rescues me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a little bit of saving where you’re struggling.” His eyes keep up their intensity, but then he wavers a little. “Izzy’s always going on about that. But you’re lucky you have friends like that.”

Jace lays his arms on the table and leans slightly forward. His eyes are so focused on him, it’s like a silent demand for him to keep looking back. Simon couldn’t avert his eyes if he tried. “Simon,” Jace says calmly. “Today was all you.”

Simon knows the surprise is showing on his face, but he can’t help it. He smiles and can feel it grow brightly genuine. Unfolding in him is the sort of warmth that’s forcing the smile to stay on his face. Jace breaks the eye contact, looking a little dazed now that he’s said all he’s wanted to say.

Simon looks down at his coffee and tries to rein in the glow, tethering it to his heart and locking it up tight, somewhere where he can keep it to himself forever.

 

* * *

 

The next day at school, it feels like a dam broke.

Jace is in his first two classes, so they sit next to each other, with Izzy, Maia, Maureen and Clary surrounding them. It shouldn’t surprise Simon, but it does, how sardonically funny Jace can be as a neighbor. It’s like Simon found the key to one of Jace’s locks. There’s a warmth that comes with it, a quiet contentedness. Not a bad feeling at all. At this point, Jace and him might even end up as friends after this whole disaster is over.

After they get out of English Literature, Izzy links her arm through his and winks at him conspiratively. “So,” she says, pressing nearer. “Are you _ever_ going to introduce us to your friends?”

And that’s how they end up joining their lunch tables.

Along with Alec, Jace and Izzy usually sit with Aline Penhallow, and sometimes Raj or some other guys from the team. Today doesn’t seem to be that kind of day, though. It’s just the Lightwoods, Aline, and the four of them. Simon’s sort of thankful that, no matter how screwed up their relationship is now, at least Jace and Lydia aren’t having lunch together anymore.

Aline is fun, though. Quiet, but friendly and actually gets Alec to smile, which Simon can appreciate.

Jace and him are sitting next to each other, with Maureen on his other side, and that, too, Simon appreciates, because contrary to all other persons at the table Clary next to Maureen is radiating agitation.

The others aren’t really paying attention to it. Izzy is getting along famously with Maia – as far as Simon can tell they’re talking about some monarch from the sixteenth century and laughing the whole way through – Alec and Aline are having a quiet exchange, and Maureen – somehow immune to Jace’s general vibe, or maybe that’s really just what he’s like around Simon – directs cheerful jabs at Jace over his head.

But Simon feels it like a hot iron on his skin, when Clary clenches her jaw, stabbing at her salad. She’s good at a lot of things, but masking her anger is not one of them. Not even when she tries to be moderately pleasant like now.

Simon’s not surprised by how much this thing between them is weighing on him. The current distance between them is pretty much what he’s always feared out of his letters, short of Clary literally spitting in his face.

But imagining a bad feeling still never quite lives up to the real thing.

He certainly wasn’t prepared for the shot to the chest he feels every time she looks at him.

It’s hit him now, right in the middle where superheroes wear their crests. Simon bets that they feel the same kind of hurt when those get burned away by the villain of the week.

“Don’t even get me started,” Maia says to Izzy, a little louder, and it tips Simon to the side when they laugh together.

His hand is itching for something to hold onto.

He does the only thing that’s going to be deemed acceptable right here, right now. He puts down his fork and slides his right pinkie over Jace’s left one resting next to his plate.

Jace doesn’t even flinch. Only his eyes flick down to Simon’s for a second, and one corner of his mouth quirks up and stays like that when he looks back up at Maureen to pick up their conversation. His pinkie wraps around Simon’s and secures their hands together.

When Simon picks his fork up with his left hand, he feels oddly comforted.

 

* * *

 

He comes home that day, more awake than he’s felt since school started up again.

He throws his backpack into the corner of his room and fumbles his phone out of his pocket. Standing in the middle of the room, he ignores WhatsApp and facebook because he’s determined to not ruin his good mood with talking to people. Instead he goes for Instagram, liking Maureen’s afternoon selfie and then stopping short.

Jace posted a picture.

It’s them.

More specifically, it’s them next to Simon’s van. Izzy must have taken it and sent it to Jace. When he dropped the siblings off today, he’d gotten out of the car to give Jace his phone that he’d forgotten. Except, that’s not what it looks like here. In the picture Jace is leaning against the door, giving the whole thing a nice, colorful background. Simon is also half leaning against the van, his hip resting against the hood, because after he’d handed over the phone Jace had made a terrible joke, which Simon just absolutely couldn’t let go.

Their heads are bent together, but they’re not touching. Even so, there’s a tender touch to it. Simon is smiling. Widely. He hadn’t even noticed back there. Jace’s face is soft in the way it was momentarily last night. His hair got looser over the course of the day, and the gold of it is standing out starkly against the window of the car.

The comment on the picture is just a heart.

Simon falls back onto his bed and puts on his playlist for the happy days.

 

* * *

 

His luck has to run out eventually, though.

This time it’s four days. Four days that run pretty smooth. Thursday and Friday he drives the Lightwoods who aren’t getting any less weird but have a strangely magnetic way of pulling Simon into their swirl of mixed up deadpan humor and straight-up grotesque nonsense. Jace and him spend a bunch of their breaks together, mostly when they’re with other people, but once they end up just the two of them on the bleachers and Simon says something and Jace laughs, loud and uninhibited and not at all worried about how his face twists and it’s sort of glorious.

Lunch is apparently a regular thing they do now, Alec and Maureen almost get in a fist fight over trying to determine who the best Ninja Turtle is, and on Friday Simon does a presentation in Biology and gets an A-. He blames the Minus on Jace yawning and stretching demonstratively in the back when he starts talking about the copulation of sharks.

On Saturday he meets up with Maia and they cook for them and his mom. Miraculously, Simon only feels guilty once, when Clary calls midway through, and Maia’s face lights up before she picks up and turns away. Sunday, he goes solitary again, but in the afternoon Mom forces him out of his room, takes him to the park and only mildly interrogates him about Jace.

It’s all smooth.

So, when Mom calls him down on Monday, he doesn’t expect to see Clary standing in front of the door, but he’s not that surprised either. Just on the way home Izzy had held half a lecture about the value of philosophy as a subject in school, and now that he looks into Clary’s bright eyes, he sort of agrees with her.

Maybe some philosophy lessons could help him resolve the warring strings of thought in his head.

Mom takes the decision whether he should say yes to her curt, _Can I talk to you now?_ by pushing Simon out the door without further ado.

“You haven’t had to ask that question in ten years,” she says like it’s just that easy. “Don’t be silly.”

Simon rolls his eyes. Thanks, Mom.

But he surrenders to his fate and takes a few steps to the side, to the lawn chairs neatly stacked against the railing on the right.

His eyes must be impossibly wide when he looks back at his best friend. He tries to get his voice to sound neutral, at least. “Everything okay?”

“Everything ok—" She snorts incredulously. “ _No,_ everything is not _okay._ Simon, what the hell?”

He flinches away, he can’t help it. “Do you really think this is the right time?”

_“Yes.”_ Her eyes flash. “You’ve been running away from me for weeks. If anything, this is long overdue.”

“What do you want to hear? I’m with Jace and that’s taking up a little more of my time than usual.”

“Yeah, I got it. Jace is the new Superman in your life and your _very much in love_.” She doesn’t even sound sarcastic, which Simon probably could’ve dealt with. If this was just about convincing her that he’s actually in love with Jace, he could’ve managed that. But this is worse. She sounds emphatic – put off by the prospect of them dating, but earnest. She looks that way, too.  “But that song… that was personal, Simon. You _liked_ me. I’d like to know what that’s about.”

Simon huffs helplessly. Stupid that he’s never rehearsed this conversation in his head before. It’s been inevitable since those dumb letters had gotten out. And to this moment he figured they could just ignore it for a few more weeks.

Which was stupid.

Clary only knows meeting helplessness with anger.

“You can’t tell me that this isn’t messed up. What are you trying to achieve here, Simon?”

“Clary,” Simon pulls his hands apart in a finishing gesture. His control over his limbs is limited, but somehow he manages. “I can’t talk to you right now.”

He makes it back into the house, shuts the door behind himself and the sound of it is deafening.

 

* * *

 

Jace takes him to the swimming pool in his house, because of course that’s something that happens now.

It’s the weekend again, and Simon steps foot in the Lightwood mansion for the first time in his life, because Max is a chipper little bastard who, Simon is convinced, is running _Spectre_ in another universe. Although, he figures that inviting one’s brother’s boyfriend over to one’s house isn’t all that crazy. It’s mostly the eyebrow wriggles that make it seem that way.

Simon had tried to think of a way to get out of it, he really had, but Izzy had looked at him from the back, kindness somewhere behind the mirth in her eyes and Jace had shrugged and said, “You could,” but despite his usual nonchalance there had been _something_ about it and damn it all to hell, Simon had agreed before he could think about it too much.

He thoroughly regrets it now, because as it turns out that when Max had excitedly advertised that they could go _swimming_ , he had very literally meant it.

And really, Simon wouldn’t find it that bad here, would actually be kind of thrilled, because the Lightwood’s do have a pretty cool house and the pool looks like the location for a viral music video sensation. Izzy looks stunning in her bikini, Max is having a delight with his oversized swimming goggles with snorkel and Alec joins them with a glare slightly less vicious than just two weeks ago. If Simon pretends that spending the afternoon lounging at a private indoor pool isn’t just a little bizarre, it’s all pretty relaxed and nice, except—

Except.

Except Simon had sort of blocked out the fact that an invitation to spend time with his pretend-boyfriend at an indoor swimming pool would most likely involve his pretend-boyfriend actually _swimming_ in said pool. And that the probability of Jace having a secret fully-clothed swim fetish is laughably low.

And in fact, he _doesn’t_ have any such fetish.

Instead, he greets Simon at the door, takes his backpack from him and carries it all the way to the back where the house ends in a long, stretched room with the pool and a gigantic window in the ceiling. Then, he shows Simon the way to the adjoining room where he can get changed and when Simon is back Jace is shirtless.

It’s not that Simon hasn’t seen the same thing in passing before, they do have gym together. It’s just that even though their whole situation now might be fake, it still puts them on a different level relationship-wise.

They’re supposed to be wrapped up in a thing that’s just the two of them. To everyone else they’re two people sharing something. They’re two people who have _moments._

It’s _weird._

Out of his unfortunate gen-pool, Simon’s face goes hot all over.

Jace is already in the water, but in the shallow end, so his upper body is still all the way dry. He’s wearing a scowl directed at Max who’s occasionally splashing him from the side, and Izzy’s already at the other end treading the water. Simon has to take a few seconds, though.

Even with the ridiculous face he’s making, Jace looks impeccable. Actually, it’s precisely _because_ of the ridiculous face that Simon needs a little break. He doesn’t know why Clary used to like the tensed-up posture Jace takes when he fells all the eyes are on him, the perfectly executed choreography of his movements. That always irritated Simon more than anything else. It’s the cracks in between that got him caught in the first place. Max is laughing at him and the small smile crawling onto Jace’s face freezes Simon in his movements.

Every time Jace grants someone else these glimpses of himself, every time he smiles and laughs and compliments, it seems deserved, naturally understood. And yet, there’s something precious about it. It’s enough to turn Simon’s head all around.

Aside from that, Jace is just objectively _built_. Simon curses himself for never having taken the time to try getting a boyfriend before. Maybe that would’ve built up some resistance for this moment.

He shakes himself out of the strange reverie and throws his things on a nearby lounger to get into the pool. Passing Jace, he comes down the stairs and throws himself in the water with a splash. After five seconds, his body gets used to the temperature. He keeps his head above water, because he’s chosen to leave his glasses on. He looks back at Jace. “You coming?”

“It’s going to take him three or four more years,” Alec says from his lounger. He has a look on his face that Simon has never seen before. It’s like he’s _crowing._ It’s both terrifying and awesome.

Simon turns around with a triumphant smile. _“No.”_ Jace glares. “You’re an enter-water-easer?”

The glare softens to give way to a pinch of confusion. “I’m a what now?”

“You’re one of those people who has to take an hour first to _ease_ themselves into the water one inch after another.” Simon laughs in delight. “You’re a _chicken._ ”

“I’m a person with common sense,” Jace says, with a twitching jaw. “Your stomach holds most of your vital organs, Simon.”

“Ohh,” Simon nods in mock understanding. “Of course. That’s the reason.”

Jace glowers, and takes a step closer to him, but hisses immediately, when the water comes up over his swim trunks. Simon gets briefly distracted by the way he pulls in his stomach, and when he looks back up the glare is gone. Instead, Jace is smirking, self-satisfied.

It emboldens Simon to swim up to him, getting up to stand. It’s warm enough in the whole room for him to avoid goose bumps.

“Hello.” Somber contentment is a good look on Jace. He almost looks a little sleepy from this close.

Driven forward by the lack of vehement objection to his proximity, he grabs Jace by the waist and pulls.

It’s a terrible idea. He’s been getting better at touching Jace casually, but doing it while Jace is shirtless is just… spectacularly bad. His thumbs are grazing Jace’s hip bones and against his wet hands, Jace’s skin is extra warm. No amount of panic attacks could prepare him for the gallop of his heart right at this moment.

There’s no way he could move Jace without his cooperation, but to his surprise, Jace moves with him, only hissing minimally when they get further into the water. Simon tries to breathe normally, and barely scrapes together enough of his intellectual faculties to swim around and get behind Jace to push with an unfortunate _giggle-like_ sound. A small hope remains that it’s going to sound mocking to unsuspecting ears.

A sharp whistle interrupts his train of thought, which is fortunate because that was bound to become a rabbit hole his brain would happily follow up on. “Wow,” Izzy says. “I think that must be a new record for you, Jace.” Like a shark she starts circling them, her expression with that taunting quality only a sibling can muster up to another sibling, and that can get a rise out of the other no matter what is said while wearing it.

Simon let’s go like he’s been burnt, but Jace just grins, cocky and blinding. “I know that it must be killing you that I can parade my hot boyfriend around in front of you and you can’t return the favor, but jealousy is an ugly color on you, Izzy.”

Simon’s eyes bug out, Jace snickers and Izzy dunks him. He comes back up spluttering and shakes his head to get his hair out of his eyes. Outraged he reaches for his sister, who dances out of the way expertly.

He twists around to look at Simon. “Not going to defend me?”

“You think I’m hot?” Simon asks back dazedly. Jace brushes a last strand of hair out of his face.

When their eyes interlock a weight settles in the space between them. Jace shrugs, but there’s a exposedness to his eyes that’s slowly becoming familiar. “I wouldn’t accept anything less in a boyfriend.” Following an invisible pull, Simon lets the water carry him a little closer.

“Sweet,” Izzy calls over Jace’s shoulder, smiling like a cat that got the cream. Just in that moment, Simon hates her a little bit.

Jace catches her by the hip and drags her down to submerge with him. Simon runs a hand through his hair to shake off the weird phantom zone of just the two of them he just exited, and barely holds back a scream when he gets splashed from behind. He growls, showing teeth, and goes to chase after a shrieking Max.

He thinks he sees Alec smiling out of the corner of his eye.

 

* * *

 

On Wednesday, it’s the first game of the season for Jace, and Simon attends. He hasn’t been looking forward to it in particular, but when he arrives Jace is warming up on the sidelines and when he spots Simon he stops and waves his acknowledgement. The shorts he’s wearing make up for a lot.

“Simon!” Maureen is waving down from where she’s sitting next to Izzy and Alec, grinning wildly. Navigating the crowd, Simon weaves through the people taking their seats and balancing their snacks between all the people. He’s proud to say that he only bumps into someone twice.

After they exchange greetings, Maureen shoves a serving of fries onto his lap. “How’re you doing?”

“Pretty well,” he says. “But do you have any idea of what’s about to happen here?”

“You don’t know the basic rules of soccer?” Alec – who apparently possesses the same kind of bat ears Jace does – asks, then catches himself. “I don’t know why I sound surprised. Of course, you don’t know the basic rules of soccer.”

“Leave him alone,” Maureen says amiably. “When you can string together enough accords to play an entire song on guitar, you can talk.”

Simon sits back and grins. He doesn’t think that Jace is bothered by his lack of knowledge over his favorite sport. In fact, when they talked about it yesterday all he’d done had been to laugh at Simon’s attempt to remember the position he’s playing. It’s Striker. He’s supposed to make the goals. That much Simon remembers, before it goes a little hazy around his reply, when all the sharpness had gone out of Jace’s expression and he had leaned back to watch him intently instead.

“I know the most important thing,” he assures Alec and takes a bite of his fries.

Down on the field, they’re getting ready to kick off now, and Alec is straightening up. Like a fire’s been lit in his eyes, Simon watches in fascination as he pays rapt attention and makes some kind of jubilation noise when Jace’s team gets ahold of the ball. That guy really keeps surprising him.

Less surprising is Izzy’s enthusiasm, cheering with the crowd from the very first minute. Maureen is more relaxed, but she’s been to games like this before while Clary, Maia and him had taken the night off and she’d met them later on. She isn’t prone to letting herself get swept away by a cheering crowd when she doesn’t feel like it, anyway.

The game goes by startlingly fast. Short passes and the surprising amount of tension accompanying it, Simon gets caught up easily, clutching Maureen’s hand after only ten minutes.

Jace shoots his first goal twenty-one minutes into the game. He puts the ball in neatly, outpacing the goal keeper by a second. The move has an amazingly lithe quality to it, and before he can think better of himself, Simon is up with the crowd letting out a spontaneous cheer.

The players on the field are on Jace in a matter of milliseconds, burying him under their hugs. As Simon watches him, that alone seems more dangerous than anything else that Jace has done so far. Simon lowers himself back onto his chair and exchanges a wild laugh with Izzy over Maureen’s head. Next to her, even Alec’s cracking a smile.

Simon sits back and releases the strange pride of his into a grin.

The break doesn’t last long, the referee guides the players back to their positions. But before he gets back into the game, Jace takes a moment to stand and lift his head, fixing his eyes on where they’re sitting in the crowd. There’s no question about who he means, when he smiles, then, and raises a hand to point to the bleachers.

And… well. There’s something to say about what that does to Simon’s insides.

 

* * *

 

The game ends 2:1 for their team, which Alec is exceedingly grumpy about, even as they wait for Jace to come out of the changing room.

They’re standing next to the bleachers, and Izzy is arguing for the 1:1 goal of the opposite side while Alec glares at her. Maureen is standing a little bit apart from them, talking to one of the guys on the team. He promised to drive her home later, but she’d been insistent on letting him wait for Jace with the Lightwoods.

From the other direction two smartly dressed adults are moving towards them, and when Alec and Izzy catch sight of them they snap to attention. Their greeting is unexpectedly stuffy.

Then both newcomers direct their attention to Simon, who immediately wants to wilt under their gazes.

“You must be Simon,” the woman says without anything in her voice giving away whether it’s a good or a bad thing if he is. She extends a hand to him. “Maryse Lightwood. I’m Jace’s mother.”

Simon shakes her hand and looks past her at Alec and Izzy.

Izzy’s giving him a smile, an echo of the glow she usually emits. Nothing about her sharp wit seems activated in her parents’ presence. And Alec looks gloomier and simultaneously like he’s trying to fade into the background and present himself as properly as possible.

It’s weird, seeing them like this.

“Hello,” he says nonetheless and shakes their dad’s hand right after while he introduces himself as Robert. “Your son played a good game.”

He hopes that’s actually true. _He_ ’d been impressed and the others haven’t given any indication that Jace was having an off-day. He thinks it’s a good guess.

And it seems like the right thing to say, judging by the way Maryse and Robert start sporting what he assumes is their version of a proud beam. They immediately launch into an elaboration of their favorite parts of the game that Simon couldn’t possibly follow, and then they go back to their silent assessment of him.

“You should come by for dinner some time,” Maryse says apropos of nothing.

There’s literally nothing that Simon would rather do less. “Sure, that sounds great,” he says. He wishes curses on his mother’s head for teaching him manners, and then almost jumps in the air from relief, when a heavy arm settles on his shoulders.

“Hey,” Jace says, sounding wonderfully normal in the little bubble of weirdness the Lightwood family has created around them and the arm wrapped around him isn’t hurting either.

He’s met with a – still rather stilted – chorus of congratulations, and then Maryse asks, “Are you ready to go? Are we taking you home, Simon?”

“Oh no, I’m driving with my friend over there.” He points at Maureen. “Thank you, though.”

Maryse nods graciously and her husband steers her to the side. “We’re going to give you five minutes to say goodbye then.” It sounds friendly enough, but there’s a careful consideration to it. Collectively, all four dark-haired Lightwoods move away from them to grant them their privacy.

Jace takes his arm from his shoulders, but drops his bag down to the floor and leaves approximately seven inches between them. Left sort of fazed by the responsibility of meeting the parents, Simon forgets to overthink when he makes a grab for Jace, letting their joined hands swing back and forth between them.

“Your parents invited me over for dinner,” he says.

“They do that sometimes.”

“I said yes.”

Jace shrugs. “Worse things have happened, Simon.”

“Have they, though?”

With a sigh, Jace rolls his eyes and changes the topic. He seems to be getting better at managing Simon’s random divergences. “I’ve noticed that you haven’t congratulated me on my phenomenal game, yet.”

“Was it phenomenal? I wouldn’t know.”

“As my boyfriend it should really be the foregone conclusion.”

Simon goes for an eyebrow raise. “As your boyfriend, I think it’s my binding duty to curb your ego.” He laughs when Jace’s lower lip slides forward, in an absolutely adorable pout. “You did good, Lightwood.”

“Thank you,” Jace says, satisfied. Then, there’s an awkward silence for a few seconds, enough time for Simon to appreciate the way a freshly showered Jace smells and the soft look of his hair when it’s not all gelled up.

Jace throws a quick look to his family waiting a few cars over. “I should probably go.”

Simon nods, and thinks of that heady second when Jace had stood still after his goal, not even in need of a second to locate him in the crowd. He gets up on his toes and whispers, “I’m gonna do an affection thing, okay?” Jace nods sort of jerkily and doesn’t even mock him for the weird expression, so Simon leans further up and kisses his temple. He tries not to linger – even though the proximity is stealing the breath out of his lungs – and moves away.

Over on the other side, Maureen bids the other guy goodbye and pushes herself off the wall, tossing him his car keys out of his backpack she’s been guarding. Simon scrambles to catch them and pushes his glasses up his nose.

“You make a sweet boyfriend,” Maureen says with a smile and nudges him to the side as they walk down the parking lot towards his van.

In the distance he can hear Alec’s annoyed drawl, asking Jace to get a move on.

 

* * *

 

When they agreed to meet up during the afternoon, Simon has to admit that he had been worried. Madzie is a cute and good kid, and Jace is great with Max, but Madzie is the polar opposite of Max in many ways and Simon honestly hadn’t known what to expect from an interaction between her and Jace.

That also means it makes his stomach go all tingly, when Jace greets her with a handshake he could have given any grown-up and Madzie’s eyes go bright when he remains completely unfazed by anything she does (or precisely doesn’t do).

Simon figured that they should do something Madzie’s already totally comfortable with, so they’re having another tv show evening and then they’re going to have to cook, since his mom is going out with her friends.

She sits with them through the first episode they’d left it at last time, inexplicably charmed when Jace keeps shushing him with increasingly creative remarks to his _shh_ noise. When she leaves, she even claps a hand on Jace’s shoulder to say goodbye right after she gives Simon the most embarrassing long hug of his life.

“Be good,” she tells Madzie after she’s hugged her and snickers at her own ironic little joke.

Simon rolls his eyes when he hears the door slam shut behind her. “I don’t know what you’re rolling your eyes about,” Jace says. “Minus all the hugging, she’s exactly like you.”

Simon snorts. “Please.”

“She’s behind you at interruptions by exactly one.” Jace nods wisely and there’s a little breathy sound from Madzie, her version of a giggle.

“You _counted?_ ” Simon asks indignantly. “You’re such a nerd.”

“Hey Madzie,” Jace calls over to the other side of the couch without looking away from him. “Throw that pillow at him.”

Now, Simon has to laugh. “Madzie has never thrown a pillow in her lif—” Which, of course, is when he gets hit in the head with a pillow from the right, knocking his glasses off his nose.

There seems to be an instinctive plane of existence on which Jace understands how Madzie works. It’s kind of amazing.

Simon knows his eyes must be shining, which is sort of a dopey look to sport when his hair’s just been mussed up by cushions, while also blindly fumbling for his glasses.

Right when he’s about to drop off the couch to keep feeling around, a hand wraps around his, stopping him from further movement. Jace reaches out with his other hand and picks the glasses off the floor, dangling them in front of his nose. Simon snatches them back for himself and when he can see again, Jace is smiling back at him, letting him go slowly.

Madzie barks a laugh at the screen and Simon startles back into the sofa cushions.

He really shouldn’t have been worried in the first place.

 

* * *

 

After they’ve cooked and brought Madzie back around to her house after Catarina calls from her house and orders her daughter back, they stay downstairs in the living room and put in _Mario Kart._

As it turns out, Jace is disgustingly good at it.

Simon curses as he gets passed by him once again. “Do you guys lock yourselves into your mansion to have _tournaments_ or something?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“No.” But it comes out all drawn out, and it’s only a second of silence before it’s followed up with, “They were called Kart Fights.”

“Secretly, you’re just all a bunch of dorks in the Lightwood house, aren’t you?”

Jace nods with just a little condescension. “So, what did you and Rebecca do?”

 “The Wii Sportsman Championship was a genuine measure of fortitude,” Simon grumbles.

Jace breaks out in a graceless little laugh, snorting halfway through. Simon’s heart flips and on the screen Princess Peach swerves dangerously.

He barely recovers, and Jace regains a little of his composure. “I’m sure,” he says now. “So, did you cheat?”

“Of course. We’re self-respecting siblings, you know?”

“I never cheated.”

Simon snorts in disbelief.

“I _didn’t,_ ” Jace insists. “Alec and Max, though, they’re _dirty_ cheaters.”

Simon is throwing his head back with laughter. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I know that you’re my fake-boyfriend, and obviously, I like you much better than him, but I’m having a hard time imagining that you’re any better than Alec when it comes to breaking the rules.”

Jace drives into a green shell when he looks away from the screen to glare at Simon. “That attitude is exactly what lets him get away with it every time.”

With his glasses about to fall off, Simon closes the gap between them. He’s almost caught up, when Jace gets out his star, and jets away.

“Screw you,” Simon says, but there’s a smile on his face and he doesn’t think that’s about to change any time soon.

 

* * *

 

Any day he runs into Jordan is a bad day, Simon had determined some years ago, when Jordan had been even more persistent about his tendencies to locate Maia anywhere she went.

So, when he has to escape from Jordan’s weirdly specific taunts right after first period, the wrinkles on his forehead deepen significantly. The entire second period, he tries not to drop into a spiral of the general Jordan debacle. Some days, is the thing, he really does have the potential to knock Simon of his game.

Today, though, he seems to be in luck. He manages to keep himself above the surface of the jungle of his thoughts all through the class, and after he gets out, Jace is waiting for him by his locker. That alone is usually enough to sweep aside most other thoughts.

When Jace is also smiling mysteriously at him, before he’s even opened his mouth, no other occurrence is going to stand a chance, that’s for sure.

“What?” Simon asks suspiciously, when he comes to a stop in front of him.

“I have a surprise for you,” Jace says, with a little melody to his voice. Simon didn’t know he can do that.

“Okay.” He’s not entirely ready to give up his suspicions, yet. “What is it?”

“I spoke to the owners of _The Institute._ Family friends.” _The Institute._ One of the more famous coffee shops in town. Family friends sounds about right. It also sounds a little like Jace is reciting mafia protocol. “They’re looking for a new musical act from February onwards. And like the truly amazing boyfriend I am, I suggested you.”

Simon doesn’t know what to say. Jace looks like he’s expecting some kind of reaction, but all Simon has to offer is the bubbling excitement arising in her stomach.

He could jump on him.

And then he remembers that they’re in public, and neither of them is carrying anything, and Jace currently isn’t looking at him with disgust. So, he does, in fact, jump on him.

Jace catches him with a little huff, when Simon launches himself at him, wrapping his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist. But he catches him. Staggers back a few paces, but he holds Simon up and doesn’t let him slip one bit. His arms close around Simon’s upper body, and his mouth is by his ear and there’s a little sound coming out of it, a little private laugh that just sets fire to the elation already making him feel like he could float away any second, if Jace wasn’t keeping him right here by his side.

_“Thank you,”_ Simon says earnestly, when they separate. He holds onto Jace’s shoulders, and just keeps beaming. “Maureen’s gonna be so thrilled when I tell her.”

“If her reaction’s anything like yours, I’ll be lucky if I survive.” Jace smooths down his shirt and clears his throat. It’s nothing short of cute, though Simon is going to set himself on fire sooner than tell Jace that. He has the feeling that he wouldn’t react well to being called _adorable._ But he’s making it really hard for Simon to resist, with the pout and the fluttering of his eyelashes.

Any day he runs into Jordan is a bad day, Simon had determined.

There can be exceptions to a general rule.

 

* * *

 

One of the more false stereotypes of high school movies is, in Simon’s experience, the whole nerdy marching band kids thing.

The marching band kids _he_ knows are some of the scariest people he’s ever met. And as of lately he’s been driving around Max Lightwood every day, so that’s saying something.

“No, no, no,” Lily Chen says now, while energetically tying back her hair.  “We can’t do it like that. You couldn’t reach that high note if you ate two pounds of chalk.”

“Your faith in us is overwhelming.” Elias leans back in his desk chair and runs a hand through his hair.

“History has taught me that the chances of ending up with an assigned group where everyone is able to pull their weight are minimal.”

Gretel snickers out of the corner. She’s sitting on Elias’ bed, one knee pulled up and her hands folded over it. Lily is kneeling over their notes on the floor, right by Simon’s legs where he’s sitting on the other end of the bed.

The assignment their music teacher gave them is actually pretty straightforward, if it wasn’t for the fact that she made it a team exercise. Now, Simon’s stuck with three people who barely seem to be able to stand each other, even though – all being prime members of the marching band – they’re constantly in each other’s company.

How they ever manage to even walk in sync is a mystery to him.

“If you don’t think she can hit the note,” he says. “Do you have a better idea?”

Lily whips her head around and scoffs. _“Do I have a better idea?”_ she asks sarcastically.

“She always has a better idea,” Elias says.

“Her better ideas are legendary,” Gretel says.

Simon presumes neither of them has to try hard for the irony in their voices. “Let’s hear it, then,” he sighs.

Lily takes a deep breath, but before she can start explaining exactly how she’s smarter than all of them, Simon’s phone beeps.

“Oh boy,” he says, when he reads the message the noise signalled.

“Oh _boy?”_ Lily asks, deeply offended.

Simon blinks. “It appears that my boyfriend’s parents want me to have dinner with them.”

He can feel his hands starting to get clammy around his phone case. It’s not that he’s particularly nervous around the Lightwoods anymore. Alec is still occasionally terrifying, but – as Simon has discovered – also completely harmless and mostly just repressed.

The parents, though. That’s a different story. They hadn’t been anything but perfectly civil after the football game, but there had been something stony in their expressions, something that Simon can’t help but think they could’ve very well hidden with a little more effort. And Jace and him are still just pretending.

Elias whistles. Mostly to piss off Lily just a little more, Simon suspects. “Kaelie never had dinner with his parents,” he says, and Simon forgot that Kaelie, Jace’s girlfriend during the first half of their freshman year, had indeed been a marching band kid. Something which apparently means that his three project partners are entitled to every detail of her life.

Gretel straightens up, now, like she’s finally gaining an interest now that they’re not beating on her suggestions for a more percussion heavy element to their presentation anymore. “I bet the Branwell girl did. Probably every other Saturday or something.” She eyes Simon with mocking eyes. “After that, he’s gonna seem like a boy that Lightwood picked up right from behind a stand at the farmer’s market. They’re gonna have to introduce him to society and shit.”

Simon heroically resists the urge to curl up in a ball on the floor. “I _am_ in the room, you know?”

“Relax.” Elias tilts his head, considering the whole of Simon, when tension snaps into his body. “Jace seems pretty protective of you. He’ll probably take you on a ride into the sunset before they can force you into a pretty white dress to march down the aisle of City Hall.”

Simon furrows his brow while Gretel collapses in a fit of giggles, Elias’ dead serious voice seeming to do her in. A little of Simon’s discomfort dissipates, though, as Elias shakes off a bit of his detached expression, letting a portion of warmth seep into his eyes.

“It’s true, though,” Lily says, surrendering to the topic, but keeping her tone at a level that makes it clear that she sees herself above this conversation. Her marker is loosely dangling from her hand. “At school, he’s always checking your surroundings. Just, like, to look out for _nothing_.”

Gretel nods. “Boy is smitten,” she says. “Did you ever see the way he looks when Simon goes all dreamy in class? If I’ve never seen stars in somebody’s eyes before…” She drifts off and all of them nod, like they’re satisfied with the direction this conversation has taken. Like that’s not something they’re constructing out of their heads at this very moment.

Simon looks at all of them with a hopefully not too tortured expression. He’s going for more of a blank deadpan thing, anyway. “Do you guys _ever_ practice or is the whole marching band curriculum just a front for a secret high school informational service?”

It’s seriously a little unsettling to hear that people have been _noticing_ them. To this point, Simon had just naturally assumed that their little thing is confined to their circles, keeping to the people they _need_ to believe them. Hearing other people talk about them makes it feel more official, and it’s somewhat disconcerting.

Even more disconcerting, though, is the feeling building up in his chest, like a balloon being blown up inside of him. It feels good, having outsiders look at them and see something that belongs together, something that they can’t touch because it’s just for Simon and Jace to have.

Simon shakes himself. “Anyway. Someone was saying something about a better idea?"

 

* * *

 

The same weekend, Simon finds himself next to Jace and still way too far from him at the same time. Because to his left Robert Lightwood took his rightful place at the head of the table and on the other side Maryse is murdering the steak on her plate, while the rest of their children are sitting primly across from both Jace and Simon.

It’s the stuff from Simon’s nightmares.

It’s also possible that he’s unnecessarily building this up in his head. But not by much. It’s pretty uncomfortable.

After ten minutes into the dinner, they’ve landed on his mother’s occupation. Maryse’s eyebrows even go up in an approximation of being vaguely impressed, when Simon says, “She’s a lawyer. Divorce stuff and all of that.”

“An honorable profession,” Robert says sagely. Simon shrugs. He’s never really thought about it that hard. “And what does your father do?”

He gulps down his sip of water and tries not to get a hiccup right at this moment. Jace next to him tenses up so bad, Simon can feel the vibrations of his movement. “He… doesn’t,” he says eloquently. “He died four years ago.”

“Oh.” He’s half-expecting some tone-deaf comment from some corner of the room, but nothing but that noise from Maryse follows, until she continues talking. “Well then, that’s a shame. More rice?” And somehow she doesn’t make it seem like she’s just brushing over an uncomfortable fact, but more like she’s picking up on the fact that he’s not keen on elaborating on his father’s early death in this setting.

As he thanks her for the second serving of rice she’s depositing on his plate, he looks at her and for the first time, sees an actual person.

Next to him, Jace’s fork is screeching along his plate, evoking a collective wince, but slowly, his shoulders drop, and he unclenches his jaw. Simon’s hand tingles with the sudden need to reach out and cover Jace’s hand with his, but he resists, something about the hard line of Jace’s back holding him back.

Instead, he clears his throat. “So, what exactly do the two of you do for work?”

That, apparently, is the right thing to say, because Robert immediately launches into a tangent about his job description, giving Simon a prime opportunity to practice his fake-listening face.

It goes on like that, until Max exploits one of the lulls in the conversation to say, “Can I get up now?” in a spectacularly bored tone of voice.

Maryse hums in what Simon can only assume is the equivalent of his mother yelling a ‘Oh no you don’t, young man’ up the stairs. “We thought that perhaps, we would play a game of Monopoly after dinner.”

“Oh, really?” Simon says, without thinking about it and immediately wants to swallow his tongue. “I thought—That’s what we’re gonna—Is that the plan?”

Robert raises a single eyebrow and Simon’s stomach bottoms out. “Do you not play board games in your household?”

“No. We play board games. What family doesn’t _love…_ We—we play board games,” he stutters.

Izzy winks at him from across the table. He feels the deep urge to faceplant onto the table.

“Then it’s settled,” Robert says. “We’ll start after dinner.”

And that’s that.

 

* * *

 

Jace volunteers them both for dish washing duty. All the glaring in the world doesn’t suffice to convey his dismay at that.

Although, he’s mildly pacified when the rest of the family files into the living room, leaving them with a whole bunch of dirty dishes, balled up napkins and some blessed comfortable silence, not filled with passive aggression or stilted conversation.

They move around each other to get everything from the dining room into the kitchen and Simon bends over to fill the dish washer, while Jace turns up the faucet to start soaking the pots and pans. When Simon comes back up, Jace is leaning against the counter and the sink is in danger of spilling over.

“You gonna turn that back off again, or are we starting that Wet T-Shirt Contest I swore to myself I’d try out in college?”

Jace jolts up, just a little, and turns around to cut off the water flow. If Simon didn’t know any better he’d say that Jace has been checking out his ass. As it stands though, Jace just sticks his arms right into the water and changes the topic.

“She shouldn’t have mentioned your dad.” He sounds tense about it, very much like he had straightened up when Maryse had asked about his father. Simon looks over at him. The lines of his back are drawn together tight, and his jaw is clenched.

He’s all coiled up.

“Nah, it was okay.” He takes the first sharp knife from Jace and starts drying it off. “She reacted to it better than some people.”

“Mh.” Jace doesn’t look entirely convinced, but some of the tension has gone out of his body, and Simon will take it.

“I can talk about it by now,” he says conversationally. “My mom put me into therapy pretty much the minute we got home from the funeral, and it helped a lot.”

Jace throws a glance at him sideways. “You go to therapy?”

“Yeah,” Simon replies as easily as possible. It’s never easy to say, but he figures that he can leave at any time. Izzy would probably cover him. And Jace doesn’t need him to get all heavy and insecure. “We usually do it on Fridays. It’s pretty awesome. You think I’m an emotional mess now? You should’ve seen me three years ago.” He laughs at the memory, but Jace doesn’t look very happy with it.

Simon just keeps talking. It’s the only thing he knows to do.

“A lot of the time I just think about what happened after. It had such big implications for our family, and sometimes it feels like that’s all his death has become about.” He takes another board from Jace and starts drying it off. Jace delves back into the sink to his elbows.

“I get it,” he says. “It’s hard to hold up nuances in memories.”

Simon pauses for a moment, then nods emphatically. “Exactly.” With a somber little quirk of his mouth, he continues toweling off the pans in silence.

“I don’t know what to think of my birth father anymore,” Jace says into the quiet. It sort of bursts forward, like he didn’t actually mean to say it. “He died when I was eleven.”

This is a delicate situation, then, Simon concludes. “I didn’t know that, I’m sorry.”

Jace shrugs roughly. “Nothing to be sorry about. The point is, he wasn’t really as clear cut as a father figure as yours was.”

“He wasn’t a good dad?” Simon asks.

“No. He wasn’t,” Jace says, but it sounds strained. “Or he was. Like I said, I can’t quite make up my mind about it. It’s not as straight-forward as that. That’s what I’m saying.” Simon rescues a pot from Jace’s hand, that Jace is close to scrubbing _through._ “I’m just saying, I know what it’s like to be conflicted.”

The ensuing silence has a lot more weight to it.

This time, it’s interrupted by Max’s yell. “Simon! Come set up the Monopoly board!” which is followed up by, “I’m the goddamn bank, Izzy, stop hogging it,” and “Robert, if you hide one more house in your sleeve, I swear to God—“.

Simon snickers, and when he sees that there’s nothing more for him to do, he dries off his own hands, leaving Jace to wipe down the counter when he waves off his offer of help.

When he passes him, Simon puts a hand between his shoulder blades and lets it stay there for a second. “Thank you,” he says quietly, and then walks into the living room to face his sure-fire execution.

 

* * *

 

The morning two days after, Alec is the first one to slide into the back seat, followed by Izzy, and then Max, who presses his cheek to the window in a strangely quiet gesture and looks outside, wide-eyed.

In fact, none of the siblings seem especially talkative.

“Everybody have a good morning?” Simon asks sunnily, just in case this can be solved with his best efforts at cuteness.

Obviously, though, it can’t.

Max just sighs non-committedly and Alec is glaring daggers, but it’s Izzy’s silence that’s really unsettling him.

“Yesterday evening one of their relatives came to visit. She’s not the most pleasant lady,” Jace says, so quietly that the other three might actually not hear him over the noise of the engine and the music Simon needed this morning to calm his nerves before his music presentation with Lily, Gretel and Elias.

Simon takes in a gulp of air. He’s never heard Jace allude to his adoption, has never heard him refer to the Lightwoods as _them_ as opposed to _us._

This seems bad, but he also knows that he’s unlikely to get anymore information out of any of them when they’re in this mood.

He drives on, letting them all lapse into silence, only singing along to a few of the lines of the songs coming up in his playlist. Putting the van in parking mode, he lets the others file out of the back seat, trying his best to conjure up a smile for them, shooting it into the rear view mirror.

When it’s only the two of them left, he reaches over the console, touching his fingers to the back of Jace’s hand.

“You okay?” he asks lowly.

When Jace turns his head to look at him, his eyes are unfocussed. Simon has a sudden flash of their unfortunate first kissing endeavor on the track. There’d been the same kind of overwhelmed confusion in Jace’s eyes then. And just as he’d caught Simon off guard with his easy compliance then, he surprises him now, when he says, “She doesn’t seem to be a fan of me dating you.”

Simon raises his eyebrows. “A… guy?”

Jace nods but doesn’t elaborate. It almost seems like there’s something physically holding him back to say it out loud. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Simon thinks he gets the feeling.

“So, what’s with everyone else then?” He trails his fingers along the lines of Jace’s hand.

The other hand waves through the air dismissively, in a gesture that’s strangely reminiscent of his mother. “They had their various reactions, it was all pretty ugly.”

“At least they have your back.” He takes to drawing circles into Jace’s skin, fully focused on the contrast of their skin tones. “I mean—Right?”

He can feel Jace nod beside him. His exhale tickles against Simon’s temple.

Slowly moving backwards, Simon uses one finger to push his glasses up his nose. “So, I have my presentation with the terror trio in ten minutes, but do you need me to do something else here?”

Jace’s shoulders shake with his chuckle. “It’s fine, Simon. Let’s go.”

Their hands pull apart and they climb out of the car. He can see Lily and Gretel waiting by the school doors from here. Oh man.

Jace comes around the hood to lean against it. He likes to wait for his friends sometimes, making himself late as often as he can get away with it.

Simon lingers for a moment, looking back at him. Jace tilts his head, appraising him, and then makes his decision-face. “Simon,” he says, just as Jordan is walking by. “For the record, _I’m_ really happy to be dating you.” He winks. “Good luck with your presentation.”

Simon’s knees buckle. One day he’ll get over Jace saying things like that, fake or not.

One day.

But it’s not this day.

 

* * *

 

When he comes out of therapy on Friday, Jace is leaning against his truck.

Simon just raises up his hands in defeat. “How do you _do this?_ ” he asks, coming around to him. “Do you just have teeny tiny little people spying everywhere?”

“I don’t think I’m going tell you that just yet.” Jace says, and then looks at him considerately. “I’m not going to do it again, if you don’t want me to.”

Simon looks at him in surprise. He hadn’t expected that from Jace, to be this upfront about an issue. “No, it’s fine, I don’t mind.”

And he really doesn’t, he finds. Talking about therapy usually makes him feel cagey. Knowing that people know that he gets that vulnerable isn’t exactly comfortable. But this isn’t all too bad. Jace didn’t go any further than to wait by his van. That feels okay.

They strap in and Simon starts the engine. Then he realizes. “So, do you actually have a plan? Where are we going?”

“I was thinking that we could take a look at _The Institute,_ if you wanted to.”

Jace crosses his arms in front of his chest like he’s expecting a No, but Simon nods and pulls out of the parking space.

“So, how was therapy?” Jace asks, sounding torn between sarcasm and genuine curiosity. The result is a tone of voice that Simon wants to laugh at, just a little bit, but he abstains. It seems like Jace is making an effort.

And there are butterflies messing up Simon’s insides that are screaming for more.

“It was good. Balanced. There wasn’t that much to say today.” He used to be able to count the amount of sessions where he _didn’t_ well up on one hand. Nowadays, though tears are still a common occurrence, the amount of time they spend on affirmation and furtherance of the healthy patterns is steadily rising.

This week, he’d cheated a little, though. Tired of the ever-revolving conversation about his current conflict in relation to Clary, he’d firmly skirted around the issue. Whatever. Mr Cohen will probably forgive him that one.

“He thinks you’re good for me,” he says thoughtfully and more to himself than to anyone listening. But Jace should probably hear it anyways.

Jace barks out a laugh. “Never before has that been said about me dating anyone.”

“I’m going to tell you this one more time: You’ve dated two people in your _life._ ”

“And none of their parents have ever invited me to have dinner with them. What does that tell you?”

“That you don’t know how to behave so all your girlfriends are embarrassed to take you anywhere?” Simon asks. He risks a glance to the side where Jace is sitting with a smile. It strikes Simon how content he looks. It’s something that awakens a raw urge in him, bubbly and warm at his core, to put that expression on his face again soon. “For the record, I’m pretty sure my mom would love to have you over for dinner to bombard you with embarrassing question while I sit under the table and weep.”

Jace does his little chuckle-snort that never fails to warm Simon’s heart and leave him a little confused at the same time. “I’m there if you promise me that there will be actual sitting under the table with weeping.”

“Oh, that is a promise I’ll have no problem keeping.”

 

* * *

 

 “Please tell me this is a joke,” Maia says as she climbs onto the mess hall bench next to Simon. “Please tell me you’re not losing to your boyfriend at _poker._ ”

“I’m not,” Simon sniffs. “I’m losing to my boyfriend _and his sister_ at poker.” He shrugs. “We were bored.”

Maia looks around at their unusual number of four at the lunch table, just Jace and Izzy and Simon and her. “Yeah, where is everybody?”

“Alec and Meliorn are preparing for a presentation, Aline is out sick today, and Raj is having some after-class talk with Mr Aberdeen,” Izzy rattles off.

“And Clary and Maureen are skipping,” Maia finishes with a sigh. “So, poker.”

“So, poker,” Jace confirms. His face is drawn tight with concentration. He’s taking this whole game predictably seriously.

Maia narrows her eyes at the emptiness on the tablet in front of Simon. “How are you even still playing, if you don’t have any more money?”

“Oh, we’ve passed money at this point,” Simon says conversationally. “Are you kidding? I don’t have that much cash on me.”

“Well then, what does he get if you lose—Oh my God,” Maia says. “Nevermind, I don’t wanna know any details. Don’t you dare tell me any details.”

Simon and Jace lock eyes across the table, smiles fixed on their faces. Actually, they agreed on an appropriate fee in gummy bears before they sat down, but what the others don’t know…

One of the corners of Jace’s mouth lifts up higher than the other, as one of his eyebrow wanders upwards.

Izzy claps delightedly. Maia groans.

 

* * *

 

He’s having a usual illegal Subway lunch under the bleachers with Maureen, when he sees Jace for the second time that day. Jace’s easy smile as he got out of the car is still burned in his mind.

The warm feeling rising up in his chest is tampered back down when Jace climbs onto the bleachers now, just to the right of where they’re sitting. He feels like a hole is being punched in his stomach when he recognizes the silhouette and blonde hair of Lydia Branwell following after him to take a seat.

Simon shifts on his ass uncomfortably. “We should probably go.”

Maureen cuffs him around the shoulder. “It’s your boyfriend and his ex.” She shuffles closer to him. “This is what my social basis is made of.”

Simon deeply regrets consuming his first sandwich so fast. The first hiccup making its way up his throat, leaves a dull sensation in his chest. Maureen puts a hand on his back in comfort, but her facial expression betrays the intense focus she’s directing at eavesdropping.

“Dammit,” he mutters, but settles in to listen as well.

“So,” Lydia says neutrally. “How have you been doing?”

“Good.” Simon is struck by how relieved he is to hear that. It’s not like he expected Jace to drop to his knees and beg Lydia to free him from his misery, but Jace doesn’t know he’s here and no one else can hear him, so it wouldn’t be out of character for him to grab the bull by the horns and take his chance with her. But that doesn’t seem to be the route he wants to take. “Surprisingly good.”

Lydia nods. “Me, too. I didn’t expect the way it would feel.”

“I understand.” He sounds open. Honest. Not like he’s running a game. Although, then again, that’s the best kind of game. “Me neither.”

“Well,” she says, and Simon can’t tell if she’s upset or angry or just kind of non-committal. But not happy. Definitely not happy. “Sounds like we’re both okay.”

There’s a few seconds of contemplative silence, and then Jace says, “I wish it was different, though.” He sounds sad in a way that makes Simon’s heart clench painfully. “This is messed up.”

“Of course, it’s messed up. Break-ups are always messed up.”

“Yeah,” Jace says, and his voice betrays a little more than just break-up insecurity, although that probably isn’t obvious to anyone but Simon. “Still wish it was different.”

Simon’s stomach sinks. That won’t sound good to anyone. But to him, it’s like a stab straight to the gut. Even though he could have predicted this. Of course Jace never imagined his post-break-up phase to go like this. Of course he never wanted to get molested by a kid in his class he barely knows. Of course he didn’t want to go through this whole ordeal.

Still.

He steadfastly ignores the pitying glances Maureen throws his way.

The silence between the two of them on the bleachers is deafening and to Simon it’s like torture.

He’s overwhelmed by the force behind his wish for Jace to speak up again, to tell her everything and follow it up with, “—and if it weren’t for Simon, I never would have realized any of this,” but the universe doesn’t seem to want to be too kind to him today, and so Lydia’s the one to break the quiet.

“I do miss you, Jace,” she says softly, so that they almost don’t catch it.

Jace doesn’t reply. All he does is lean back and watch as Lydia descends from the stairs and walks off, head held high.

“Woah,” Maureen whispers. “That was intense. What’re you gonna do?”

Simon doesn’t know why she’s asking him. He doesn’t know what to do.

 

* * *

 

 “I don’t know what to do,” he tells Clary during the next break.

He hadn’t been planning on it, but—Actually, that’s a lie. He’d actively sought her out. He’s a glutton for punishment.

“And I know this is weird,” he continues, “but you know the extent of my capacities. What do I do?”

Clary huffs. Not a good start. It’s like she’s revving up. “You _could_ just tell him the truth. But I know how hard that is for you lately.”

Simon fiddles with his sleeves and looks down to his shoes. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” she asks, pointedly. Her eyes are blazing now. “I don’t know what you expected, Simon,” she tells him. There’s real fury to her voice. A fury he’s learned to fear early on. “Of _course_ , there are still gonna be feelings. You got together with a guy who was looking for a rebound.”

Simon caves in on himself. He should’ve seen this coming. He shouldn’t have come to her. It’s just that he can’t remember a time when he wouldn’t. A selfish part of him was hoping that she’d slip into their usual dynamic, too, that she’d read his whole story out of his eyes.

But that’s not her job, just as it isn’t his.

That doesn’t mean that he isn’t wishing for the powers of time travel right now, though.

“That’s not—” He still can’t talk to her about this. It’s like all the lies are clogging up his throat and don’t allow for anything with her to go right.

“If you wanna talk to me, tell me the truth,” she says. “Otherwise, I’ll be leaving now.”

Simon opens his mouth. He closes it. His thoughts are racing and that means that he can’t pick out a single useful one. This is bad.

With a swinging ponytail, Clary marches down the corridor and away from him. Again.

 

* * *

 

He meets Jace in the corridor after school lets out. The pure, unadulterated rage in Clary’s eyes has accompanied him for the last few hours, and when Jace falls into step alongside him, smoothing his thumb along the back of Simon’s neck, he doesn’t think he can hold back any longer.

“So, I hear you’ve been reconciling with Lydia,” he starts. It’s not the most elegant of transitions, but his head’s too full and his stomach’s too empty, and Jace looks entirely too good for him to do this gracefully.

Jace stops short. They’ve made their way to one of the annexes of the hallway, the students passing by in the main hallway, occasionally shooting them curious looks, but overall ignoring them.

“No,” he says slowly. “I’m not reconciling with Lydia. Where did you hear that?”

“You’re still talking to her, right? Still wondering.” Simon huffs. He’s had enough of all the uncertainty.

Jace just looks back at him evenly, not a crack in his façade betraying his front of utter detached annoyance.

“You know what, I’ve probably been more honest with you than I’ve been with anyone in the last four years,” Simon says. “I’m not gonna ask you to do the same, but I think I deserve that you at least be upfront about the things that concern our situation. And like it or not, your weird little thing with Lydia is part of it.”

“Simon,” Jace says, pressing the word through his teeth, uncontrolled in his frustration. “You are the emotionally densest person I’ve ever met. And I live with Alec.”

Simon raises his arms. It feels like there’s a snake wrapping itself around his torso. “It’s not fair to expect me to figure out your emotions,” he calls, a little too loudly and tries to take a breath to lower his voice. “What do you want from me?”

Jace growls under his breath. It looks like he’s counting to ten internally, and he drops his shoulders, looking back up at Simon. But then he looks determined. “I want you to come on the ski trip this weekend.”

That takes the wind right out of him. “I—what?”

“I want you to come on the ski trip this weekend,” Jace repeats. “It’s in the contract, we’re here in terms of time now, and I’d like you to come with.”

Simon sighs. “Dammit Jace,” he swears quietly. He feels like a deflating balloon. “ _Fine._ I’ll come. It’s only fair.”

“Thank you,” Jace says, sounding tired, almost empty. It’s enough to take away from the satisfaction of Jace being grateful without any encouragement first.

His insides twist up. “Look, I don’t want to take any Lydia-related progress away from you. You can do whatever you like. Maybe just—Think about how it’s going to affect my story, too, sometimes.”

“Okay.” Jace crosses his arms. A shadow crosses over his eyes, settling in. Simon immediately wishes he could make it go away. “Then you’ll probably like this: I got your mother to give me a recording of your songs. I haven’t listened to them yet, but,” he shrugs. “I thought I could do that on the bus ride.”

It’s his best effort at an apology, Simon can see that. And he can’t help the excitement at the thought of Jace going out of his way to do something nice for him.

It gets even more helplessly charming, when Jace smiles crookedly. The creases around his eyes deepen, as the shadow lifts off his eyes. Simon relaxes his shoulders. He smiles back.

Still, when Jace drops him off at his classroom, Simon’s left with a gnawing hole in his stomach.

 

* * *

 

When his phone rings the next day, and it’s Jace, he already doesn’t expect anything good. Jace doesn’t just call him. They’re not that kind of friends.

“What’s up?” he therefore asks right when he picks up.

Jace foregoes a standard greeting in the same fashion and gets right to the point. “Did you sic Clary on me?”

Simon splutters. “Did I— _No._ Why would I have sicced Clary on—Oh man, what did she do?”

“It’s not so much what she did do,” Jace says and something slams in the background. “It’s what she’s doing right this second that’s more concerning to me.”

“Is she _at your house?_ ” Simon asks. Piercing jabs activate all his inner organs.

“Oh yes,” Jace hisses. “Izzy opened the door, and there she was. A picture of righteous fury, demanding to speak to me because apparently, she’s under the impression that I might be at fault for roping you into something where you had to lie to her. I could barely escape to my room before she saw me.”

Simon’s heart clenches.

He can just picture it, exactly as it must have happened, Clary’s hair swinging furiously as she marched down the path lined with stones, until she reached the door which she would have pounded on with more force than strictly necessary for a knock.

Because she’s just looking for an explanation. Because she doesn’t know what’s going on with him, and she wants to. Because Clary cares more fiercely than anyone he’s ever known.

Guilt carves into him like a knife.

He’s so scared of making her hate him.

_“Simon,”_ he hears distantly. “Hey, Simon, breathe.”

“I’m breathing,” he says, a little weakly. “I swear, I didn’t tell her to do this.”

On the other end of the line, Jace sighs. “I know. You’re okay, Simon.”

“You probably shouldn’t talk to her. She doesn’t have the full picture, and stable conversations rarely ensue when she’s angry.”

“You don’t say,” Jace says, voice dripping with sarcasm, and then going low. “Izzy’s handling it. Don’t worry.” Simon closes his eyes. Jace says the last part especially like he really _doesn’t_ want Simon to worry. As with all things he does, it works like a charm. No one can expect to make Simon stop overthinking. But with Jace’s voice in his ear right now, he’s probably coming as close as possible.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I know, it all seems kind of broken right now, but Clary is the best person I know. She probably just cares.”

Jace makes a little pained noise. “Don’t be sorry,” he says, then, a little roughly. “I get what she’s doing. We’ve had weirder things show up at our door.”

Simon gulps down another wave of guilt. “I’m having a hard time believing that.”

There’s some scuffling on the other end that probably means that Jace is arranging himself into a different position. “There was that time when Max celebrated his birthday, but he hadn’t told anyone that he’d hacked into our parents’ computer to order _seven_ bouncy castles he really wanted…”

Simon hopes that his hiccupping laugh sounds a little more graceful over the phone than it does in the quiet of his room and leans back to listen.

 

* * *

 

After Mom drops him off, and traumatizes him with some truly grueling last warnings, he stumbles hastily out of the car and onto the bus.

He spots Jace first, seated in the fourth row and moving one seat over, when he meets Simon’s eyes expectantly.

Stopping next to the seat, Simon throws a quick glance to the four seats ten rows down. Maureen has landed next to Raj and seems to be involved in some kind of debate with him that involves a lot of slapping phones out of each other’s hands. In the seats across the aisle from them, Clary is diligently ignoring him, head leaning back and her eyes closed as she holds her girlfriend’s hand, who’s looking at Simon and shrugs apologetically.

Simon stuffs his bag into the overhead compartment and drops into the seat next to Jace. Until the bus starts, they drop into a conversation about _Lost –_ which Jace somehow _still hasn’t finished –_ in slow, low tones, a welcome distraction to the weight in his stomach.

As soon as they’re on the road, though, Jace’s eyes are drooping like he’s had a distinct lack of sleep last night, but when Simon asks him about it, the only answer he gets is a grunt that tells him that even if he did, there are no regrets on that front.

However, after another ten minutes Jace starts slowly sliding down on his seat. His mouth opens in an extensive yawn, before he looks up at Simon. There’s something incredibly boy-ish about him looking at Simon from under his lashes.

“Okay?” he asks, tilting his head towards Simon’s shoulder.

Simon clears his throat. “Yeah. Sure.” Not needing any further prompting, Jace drops his head onto his shoulder. There’s some shuffling along his neck as Jace tries to get comfortable, but soon enough he calms down some, a warm line along Simon’s side. Simon hopes he’s not close enough to feel his heart galloping away. It’s seriously unsettling how physical contact with Jace can still have this kind of effect on him.

Jace lets out a contented sigh and snuggles down.

Carefully, like he could shatter the moment with any sudden gesture, Simon scooches down and rests his head on top of Jace’s.

He doesn’t look back for the whole ride.

 

* * *

 

It takes ten minutes for Izzy to get ahold of him and drag him to her room after they arrive at the hotel. (To be more accurate, it takes Maureen saying, “Wait, what do you _mean_ you’re not coming to ski?”, Izzy digging her chin into his shoulder from behind as he answers, “I’m okay, I have my headphones,” and her wicked smile that she directs at Maureen, taking him by the hand and winking as she pulls him along.)

That’s how he ends up several hours later on one end of her bed with her bent over his hands to apply something she calls a top coat to his nails.

It doesn’t take long for them to land on the topic of Jace.

“He’s just so frustrating sometimes,” Simon soon complains. “Always so ready to— _deflect._ ”

Izzy looks up, blinking at him from under her hair. “Are you guys having problems?”

“No.” Simon tries pushing up his glasses with his shoulder. “Yes. I don’t know. Some stuff is weird right now.”

He watches her lips quirk up.

She pokes him gently in the foot. “Jace is complicated. Only… not.”

Simon draws his eyebrows together and tries to raise them at the same time. “Have you ever considered a career in psychology? Because that sounds like a very forward-thinking thesis.”

She chuckles, quiet and low. “What I mean is that once he finally lets you in, I find him very easy to decipher.” She tilts her head. “He’s grown to really like you. You might even get him to appreciate the art of open communication.”

“You’re telling me I should track him down.”

He narrows his eyes at her. She’s looking back at him, unashamed. “I think you should, yes.” Then, she redirects her attention to his nails. “I think you guys have some stuff to work out, and I think you should do it as soon as possible.”

“Sounds plausible,” he nods. “Counter-proposal: I run from my problems for as long as possible and hope that everything just—“ He snaps his fingers. “—works itself out.”

Izzy giggles. “Sure,” she agrees. “That sounds healthy, too.” She straightens up and screws the bottle of nail polish shut.

Simon examines his newly green glittering nails. There’s something warm about Izzy taking her time to do this. Even though he’s been pretty much exclusively hanging out with girls his whole life, neither Rebecca nor Clary nor Maia have ever been nail polish people, and Maureen is more interested in debating comics than doing his make-up.

He takes another look at Izzy, who isn’t paying any more attention to him, hair falling over her shoulder as she sorts her make-up supplies.

He thinks of Jace. The strange intensity of his eyes, the unexpected way he listens to him, and the way Simon is sometimes left with the desire to watch him do whatever he’s going to do, content to just be in his proximity. He thinks of the way Jace performed a small miracle, cracking his long repressed feelings like a walnut.

In an impromptu decision, he slips off the bed, and leaves behind a wildly grinning Izzy.

 

* * *

 

When he gets out to the hot tub, he can’t help the smile splitting his face.

He _knew_ she’d be here.

Clary has both of her arms on the edge of the tub and her hair spun up in a bun on top of her head. She’s wearing the dark red bikini that she dragged Simon along to buy. Usually, they put aside a day a season to buy clothes in bulk, to reserve the rest of their time for the things that are more fun for the both of them.

However, the bikini had been an anomaly, with Clary pulling him into the shop after a fight with Maia. At the time it had given him a mean little thrill that he was the one she relied on when her relationship was headed for trouble. Now he’d be more than happy with a smile, instead of the stony expression that makes the bottom of his stomach flutter with something completely different than the affection he’s used to.

It doesn’t help that she looks great. She’d look so much better if she wasn’t radiating vengefulness.

“I’m happy to report that my Clary-radar is still working,” he starts, ill-advisedly drawing out one of his nervous chuckles.

He climbs up the stairs and sits down on the edge of the tub, putting his feet in the water.

Clary raises her chin up at him, stubborn refusal set in her eyes.

“Okay,” Simon says, trying to psyche himself up. He’s rarely met a person scarier than a mad Clary. “All I came here for is to tell you that, if you don’t hate me more than any other person right now, I’m ready to explain and to listen to you fling your curses at me.”

Clary huffs. “I don’t hate you, Simon.”

“Gonna take that as permission,” Simon determines. And then he tells her everything.

Well. The quick run-down.

It’s humiliating and terrifying and his throat goes as dry as the Sahara. It’s absolutely worth it.

When he’s finished, the first thing she does is shaking her head. “Only you, Simon Lewis,” she says. And, well, that’s about sums it up.

He ducks his head and runs both hands through his hair. “Do you hate me now?”

Her chest heaves as she takes a deep, deep breath. “I could never hate you, Simon,” she says and sounds so certain in her Clary-way, where she’s sure, and there’s absolutely no way that she could be wrong. He hopes to high heaven that she’s not wrong about this.

“I hated the fact that you were dating Jace.” He can’t help but flinch at the viciousness in her voice. “Absolutely loathed it, it was like a small burning sun in my chest. But then—” Her voice goes wobbly. “Then I actually watched you during these weeks. You looked _happy._ As she says it, the corners of her mouth lift up, like just the idea of him being happy brings her a little bit of his joy as well. _God,_ Simon’s missed her. “And I didn’t wanna take that away from you. It just seemed like you didn’t need me anymore, and I _hated_ that.”

Simon almost forgets to breathe.

One of the worst things about these kind of conversations with Clary is that she’s the sort of brave, where she looks him dead in the eyes the entire time.

Her eyes now are big and sad, but determined, and that little smile is still playing around the corners of her mouth. “Suddenly it felt like you were slipping out of reach, like I cared more about us being us than you did. I just wanted to hold onto you, but I didn’t know how, because I didn’t know what the hell was going on with you.”

She looks helpless there, in the water. The hot tub seems way too big, all of the sudden.

Simon makes an impulse decision.

He slides down into the water, glad for the fact that he’s wearing only his boxers and a t-shirt – denim would have spelled disaster for this arrangement. He does his best to take a seat next to her, as well as one can manage in a tub full of water.

She smiles at him like she does in those instances where anyone else is probably thinking that he’s lost his mind, but by some miracle she understands him completely.

Simon takes a deep breath. “Clary, I’ve been in love with you for years.”

“Simon—"

He raises a hand. “No. Just—wait, please.” His head bops twice, to a rhythm only he ever hears. “I’ve been in love with you for years, but it wasn’t until I realized that you knew and until I started the Jace-thing, that I noticed that I _can_ move on from you. And I want to move on from you.”

“Ah, Simon,” she says, like he’s breaking her heart.

“And not in an I-don’t-need-you-anymore way,” he continues. “If we ever stopped being friends, that’d devastate me more than with most other people on this planet. Looking at you the past few weeks has been _hell._ But what you just described, that you felt like you cared more about me than I did about you, that’s how I’ve been feeling basically the entire time I’ve known you.”

Clary exhales with a little laugh. “It’s a sucky feeling.”

“ _So_ sucky,” he lets out, shedding all the weight of years of longing for her to understand him in his entirety. It feels _amazing._ “I don’t think it’s a bad thing that I don’t have to feel that way anymore.”

She shakes her head insistently. “It’s not. I’m so happy that you don’t have to carry this around with you anymore.”

Simon laughs, only a little brokenly. “If only I had had the guts to tell you the truth when you got that letter.”

“You wouldn’t have had to lie to me in the first place,” she says. “Simon, I would never abandon you. We would’ve figured something out.”

“Mh,” he hums and tilts his head. Their eyes are still interlocked. “Don’t get me wrong, I hated lying to you and this has been weighing on me for years, but I’m sort of glad that it happened this way. Widened my horizons a little.”

She nods. One day he’s gonna tell her everything about the mess of the last weeks. They’ve got time.

“You like him,” Clary says, then. Simon groans, but that’s never deterred her before. “My Simon-radar may be broken when it comes to your feelings for me, but it still works for everyone else. You like him. So much.”

Simon throws back his head. “Please don’t do this right now,” he says. “We’re pretending and I fell for him. I’m worse than any rom com protagonist.”

Clary comes to move closer and cups one of his cheeks with a hand. “Oh, man. I’m sorry to tell you this, but… you’re not worse than any one of them. You’re precisely as bad.”

He pinches his nose and she laughs. “Can we please just enjoy this friendship-mending moment and ignore how my love life is somehow _still_ in the gutter after having just gotten over years of unrequited pining?”

She smiles the same smile he’s been at the receiving end of for ten years and somehow it doesn’t hurt anywhere anymore. They’ve got each other.

She draws her thumb over his cheek bone. “It’s you and me, Simon. We’ll figure it out.”

 

* * *

 

Clary’s room is down the corridor in the opposite direction of Simon’s so he lets her go after they hug for another three minutes to say good night.

Moving down the hallway, Simon feels like he’s walking on air. He hadn’t expected that it would feel so good to talk to her like this. (He should have, though. He’s been going to therapy long enough.)

He’s so wrapped up in the joy of it that he doesn’t even notice Jace until he emerges out of one of the rooms in his entirety, after lingering in the doorframe to bid the inhabitant of the room goodbye.

“Hey.” He laughs at the sheer fittingness he’s getting from the situation. “How’re you doing?”

Jace leans against the wall and crosses his arms. There’s a tiredness to the lines around his eyes, but as he looks Simon up and down he cracks a smile that almost seems gentle. “What are you so chipper about?”

“It’s Clary.” He can’t help the beam on his face, the relief of the guilt and anger and misery lifted from him breaking through like sunbeams shining from between his ribs. Jace tilts his head and looks at him, a little pained and a little hesitant, but still genuine, still warm. “We worked things out.”

“That’s great, Simon,” Jace says.

He doesn’t just say it, though. He says it _weird._ Almost like he’s trying to figure out a conflict only he knows about.

It’s only then that Simon realizes which room Jace has just come out of.

Well.

He supposes, it’s only fair.

He gets Clary, Jace gets Lydia. That’s been the deal from the beginning.

“So.” He pushes his glasses up his nose. “How—How was your night?”

“Not as good as yours.”

Simon doubts it. He really does.

“Probably,” he says.

Jace’s foot is wriggling. “Good for you. Izzy helped, then.”

There’s something about him that’s off. They should both be happy, after all. Why aren’t they both happy.

“Yeah,” he says. “She definitely helped.” Jace clenches his jaw and suddenly, Simon doesn’t want to be looking in his eyes anymore. They’re too clouded. It seems wrong. “Good night,” He walks backwards into the doorframe. Rubbing the back of his head, he pushes open the door behind him.

Jace smiles softly, and Simon so wishes he could smile back, let himself believe that the fondness in it is meant just for him. “Good night, Simon.”

 

* * *

 

For the trip, back Simon and Clary fall behind on their packing, meaning they’re among the last to get to the bus.

After she stores her suitcase, Clary looks down on her phone. “Maia and Maureen are already in the back,” she reports. “Maureen’s praying for a sober nun to sit with her.”

“I can sit next to her,” Simon says, trying very hard for that casual undertone. He doesn’t even comments on all the drunk nuns that seem to be running around in Clary’s mind.

He shouldn’t have bothered. She tilts her head and squints. “Did you and Jace have a fight?”

“No.” He shrugs and tries to will his hands to stop being clammy. “I think I’m in way too deep. I just need to take a little distance.”

She looks at him with wide eyes and something burning behind them, like she really wants to comment, but to his astonishment, she doesn’t. Instead, she takes his suitcase and practically throws it in the cabin with the other suitcases.

“Okay then,” she says. “Let’s go.”

He climbs onto the bus after her. She walks right past Jace, head held high. Simon’s just not that strong.

“Simon.” Jace is looking up at him with his impossible eyes, and Simon stops. He doesn’t say anything else, but the seat next to him is free save for Jace’s jacket thrown over it, which he now stuffs under the seat in front of his.

Simon clears his throat. “I think I’m gonna sit with Maureen for the way back.”

Jace nods, but his eyes narrow. He doesn’t say anything.

Not his best idea.

People not talking generally leads to Simon talking more. And that’s never good.

“It’s only fair,” he’s saying now. “You know, they say you’re not supposed to neglect your friends for your relationship. I don’t her to have to wait for a drunk nun—Wait. Did I just say _drunk_ nun? I—"

“Simon,” Jace interrupts. He waves for him to proceed walking. “Just go.”

Simon tries to meet his eyes, but Jace is already looking around the bus for another neighbor. He passes and catches up to Clary, who’s still standing inbetween the seats Maia and Maureen are occupying on.

She smiles back at him, her ponytail swishing through the air, and reaches back, squeezing his hand. He squeezes back and lets her go, as she sits next to Maia, who yawns extensively and pillows her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder.

Simon takes a deep breath, averts his eyes and drops down in the seat next to Maureen, who’s tapping away on her phone.

She hands him one of her headphones. “New _Aquaman_ trailer is out,” she says, as if he’s ever needed any encouragement to share headphones.

He throws a glance to the front, where blond hair is peeking out over Jace’s seat. Simon looks quietly down at the screen and wonders why he’s the sort of person who gets himself in a situation, where everyone got what they wanted, and yet there’s still a pile of stones resting on his chest.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Simon.” Jace catches him by the shoulder right when he gets out his suitcase from the bus. Somehow, in his endless way of Simon not being able to predict his abilities, he bustles him to the side where there aren’t a bunch of students falling over each other to get to their luggage first.

Simon stands and tries for his most stoic expression. “Yes?” he asks, feigning innocence.

“What the hell is going on?”

He almost continues his act, almost says, _What do you mean?_ , but he takes one look at Jace, confusion written in those ever-expressive eyes, and decides against it.

“I just figured—” He waves a hand. “You wouldn’t need me anymore.”

“What are you talking about?” Jace looks genuinely puzzled.

Simon raises his eyebrows. “Well, you made up with Lydia, didn’t you?”

He looks at him expectantly, but Jace doesn’t seem to have a response to that, and Simon feels it like a gut punch.

“I’m happy that this worked for you,” he says, clutching the strap of his backpack. He tries to force his voice not to break, gives a little nervous laugh instead. “Really.” Then, he does the worst thing of all.

He waves.

“Bye, Jace.”

He thinks Jace calls after him, thinks there might be a weak, “Simon,” beckoning him to return, but when has Jace ever really cared enough to pull him back?

 

* * *

 

Because she’s evil, Rebecca hugs Maia first.

Because he’s missed her, he squeezes for a good fifteen seconds when she embraces him next.

His sister is wearing fuzzy socks that clash horribly with her sweat pants, but she’s already laughing at him, and after so many weeks of inter-people weirdness it just feels _good_ to have her be this normal.

Mom is coming in right behind them, still on the phone, but she throws them a cheerful wink and throws her heels carelessly into a corner.

“So, where’s Maureen?” Rebecca guides them into the kitchen where she’s laid out all the Hanukkah cookies she and Mom have made in the last two days.

“She had to hurry home. Her family’s doing that whole Epic Christmas Bonanza thing again, where they’re visiting all branches of the family tree in, like, six days,” Maia says and stuffs a cookie into her mouth. Clary wipes a crumb from her cheek and kisses her temple. Then she winks at Simon across the kitchen aisle and he feels like his heart grows two sizes watching them.

That’s new. And very, very relieving.

They spend a good hour listening to Rebecca tell them about her December so far, and she’s got some genuinely good anecdotes, so it takes that much time for anyone of them to check their phones.

Then, though, Maia groans. “Oh God,” she says. “They’re uploading the trip pictures already?”

But of course, she still scrolls through them, laughing at some parts, while Rebecca employs Simon to start on a new batch of chocolate buttons, until her finger slows down and then quickly speeds up again, going back up.

“Mh,” she contemplates. Clary’s head snaps up and she fixes her wide eyes on Simon. “That seems… not so good?”

A chill grabs hold of Simon’s body.

He comes around to their side of the counter and promptly gets a hiccup when he lays eyes on Maia’s screen. It’s a picture of him and Clary in the hot tub. Not so good is exactly how it looks.

Somehow, the exact moment that’s been captured is when they were turned towards each other and Clary had put her hand on his face.

“That was a sweet moment of friendship,” Simon says, outraged. Clary covers Maia’s hand with her own. “This just makes it seem dirty.”

Clary crushes one of the cookies in her hand. “Why is he such an asshole? It was Jordan, right?”

“Of course it was him,” Maia agrees and tightens her grip on Clary’s hand.

“Asshole,” Clary says.

“What?” Rebecca asks. “Maia’s not gonna freak out about it. She’s _here._ ”

“No, she won’t,” Clary says, and it sounds uncharacteristically careful, which Simon is hating already. “But Jace might.”

Simon’s head collides with the table.

 

* * *

 

The doorbell sounds right in the middle of Miss Congeniality.

Mom waves for Simon to go answer, and he heaves himself up with some complaining. When he looks through the peephole, though, he immediately wishes he had been more insistent and poked Rebecca enough for her to get up instead.

Jace lifts his head when the door opens, the shade of his eyes somehow more dull than usual.

“Hey,” he says. “Can we talk?”

Simon clamps down on the urge to immediately start blubbering. He tries to compose himself as best he can, grabs his keys, and closes the door as he walks past Jace, down the stairs and onto the lawn.

He almost doesn’t notice the cold of the winter air, hugging himself, arms wrapped around his chest more to protect himself from Jace’s gaze than the temperatures.

“So,” Jace starts, hands buried deep in his pockets. “You ran off quickly.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Simon says and even means it halfway. “I just thought that you wouldn’t care that much.” Also only half a lie. “You probably have better things to do now, right?”

“Because you think I got back together with Lydia,” Jace says slowly, like this is only just occurring to him now.

“Well.” Simon slides a hand through his hair. “Didn’t you?”

“In fact, I didn’t.”

“I—what?” He barely stops his jaw from dropping. This is making him unreasonably angry. “Well, then what the hell was _the point?_ ” he shouts. “What, you just figured that you’d have someone patch up your wounds while you recover from your relationship? Was I that convenient?”

“I didn’t _know_ that I didn’t want her anymore until a couple of months ago,” Jace snarls. “I wasn’t _using_ you.”

“Maybe not the whole time!” Simon rubs at his forehead with a sigh. “Jace, I don’t _want_ to be second best anymore. I’m just so done with that.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jace asks, like he honestly doesn’t know.

Simon groans. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I basically _never_ know what you’re talking about, Simon.”

The door falling shut startles both of them out of staring at each other. “Hey, jackass.” Clary prowls down the stairs. “Don’t you think you could have found a better time for this?”

“Clary,” Simon breathes unnecessarily, just to say anything at all.

“Of course.” Ugly. It’s ugly the way Jace tenses up, the way the lines around his mouth deepen. Simon’s never thought him ugly before. He laughs bitterly. “You’re in love with Clary. I didn’t think the picture—I can’t _believe—"_

He cuts himself off, and Simon is left speechless. This is Jace. Jace doesn’t explode in words.

Jace doesn’t have to cut himself off.

Jace thinks he’s in love with Clary.

The caustic bite of his laugh still reverberates in Simon’s chest, and he’s tired.

He’s tired of swinging between deceit and confrontation. He’s tired of having his own little bad seed with every other person in his life.

“You’re still in love with Clary?”

Jace’s face tightens up even more.

Simon closes his eyes. He’s so tired.

Luckily, Clary’s still there. And when it comes to her girlfriend, she’s rarely cautious at all. She skips back up the stairs, and circles Maia’s wrist with her hand.

“Maia,” she says, and then her voice gets so quiet that Simon can’t hear her anymore. Whatever she’s saying, though, it doesn’t seem to do the trick.

Clary rakes a hand through her hair, frustrated. She looks back at them. “I got it.” She points at Simon. “Don’t be too long.”

The door clicks, when she shuts it behind her.

Simon turns to Jace. “Just go home, Jace,” he says roughly. His throat is so scratchy, he’s not sure he’ll be able to get out another word.

“Simon,” Jace says, and his voice is heartbreakingly raw, making it really hard for Simon to keep looking at him with hardness in his eyes when tears are threatening to spill. Jace opens and closes his mouth twice, like he’s determining what he’s allowed to say. Finally, he closes his eyes, defeated. “You’re not second best,” he finishes, starting to walk backwards towards the front gate.

If nothing else, he keeps up eye contact the entire time until he’s swallowed by darkness. As soon as he’s gone, Simon ducks his head, blinks the tears out of his eyes and shivers.

Since he’s kissed him on the track, he’s never seen Jace look that shattered.

Simon pushes open the door to make his way back into his house, but Jace’s eyes had been fragmented in a way that he can’t figure out and that he won’t be able to stop thinking about for the next ten years, probably. He tries not to ponder on the possibility that this means that Jace purposefully allowed Simon to see him like that.

 

* * *

 

He flees into his room.

What else is he really supposed to do. Clary and Maia have disappeared, and that goddamn picture is burned into his mind.

He feels a strange sort of kinship with Sisyphus right now. It’s like running into a wall over and over again, and he’s starting to get bruised.

He screwed up with Jace, he fixed it. He screwed up with Clary, he fixed it. He screwed up with Jace _again,_ and he has no idea whether that can ever be fixed. And now he screwed up with Maia.

It’s such a roller coaster, he feels dizzy with it. So, he does the only thing he can think of to get rid of the effect.

He lays down on his floor.

Now he’s glad that he turned on the stereo as soon as he entered the room. He closes his eyes and tries to calm down.

It’s no good.

He’s too trapped in his own head. His thoughts are spiraling, wrapping around the events of the last months and clawing into them. His brain doesn’t want to let go, pulls up a web of memories, one attached to the next, and the next, and the next.

He thinks of Maia’s face, framed by the light coming from behind. It had been hard to gauge her expression, but he bets that there had been this terrible sadness in her eyes, the expression that he hates to see on her. He bets that she hates him now. _He_ hates him now.

He _could_ see Jace’s face, though, and with him he’s _sure_. He wants to shake himself, thinking of all the occasions when Jace could’ve laughed in his face. He wants to shake himself, thinking about all the people he’s involved and consumed in this ridiculous, humiliating scheme of his.

It’s just that he can’t move a muscle. He feels like he’ll make everything worse if he moves even an inch.

Like a void, the spiral sucks all his focus, blocking out everything that could possibly get him out of this vicious cycle.

But he can hear steps. Someone’s walking up to his room, and he prays to God that it’s not someone else ready to lecture him, someone else to pull at his emotions and make him spill over. He can’t bring himself to turn his head either, though.

There’s a soft knock on the door and then Rebecca is looming over him, looking down with her way of concern, where no one but the people that know her would ever recognize it as such. He hopes she moves away soon. At the moment, he doesn’t feel like he’s up to looking at anyone for more than five seconds.

Thankfully – and at another time he’d be excited about the sibling telepathy thing they’ve got going on – she does move away. Simon sighs with relief.

She lowers herself onto the carpet and lies down next to him.

He thinks that’s okay. His skin isn’t crawling at her presence.

“I’m pretty sure my joints just cracked,” she says in a low register. “I’m way too young for this.”

Simon gives the ceiling a weak chuckle. His fingers drum the rhythm of _Mr Brightside_ on the floor.

Rebecca lifts up her arm and makes her fingers crawl down his, stilling Simon’s hand. “You’ll be okay, Simon,” she says. Her hand squeezes his, and he breathes out, long and soft, and lets himself believe her, just for a minute.

 

* * *

 

He tracks down Maia at _Java Jones_ one and a half hours later. Rebecca had held his hand for twenty minutes, even when he’d started to hyperventilate, and she hadn’t pestered him, hadn’t asked, and while he tends to talk his way out of things, he really couldn’t have taken anymore talking today.

Except for this. This, he still needs to do.

From the outside, he watches Maia wrap her hands around her cup, lit up from behind. It’s another two minutes until he can get himself to enter and walk over to the table she’s sitting at. It’s the same one he’s sat at with Jace every time they’ve been here.

Irony doesn’t appear to be done with him.

He gets to the table and taps two fingers on it.

He takes a deep breath in. “So,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

She picks up her cup and downs the rest of her coffee. Then she looks at him with a quirked eyebrow. “That’s a terrible start.”

“It’s really all I got.” He takes a seat across from her. It’s a little strange. He’s gotten used to sitting in this spot with the headiness that comes with being in Jace’s presence. “I’m sorry, this is a mess, and I promise that I’m telling you the truth when I say that I’m _not_ in love with Clary, and especially that I would never, ever try to sabotage your relationship with her.”

She nods. Slowly, like she’s trying to process, but she still nods. “Yeah, I know you wouldn’t. I was just caught off guard. You didn’t really do anything to me.”

“I didn’t?”

Leaning back, she assesses him, looks up and down until their eyes lock. “From the day Clary and I started dating, you’ve never been anything but as supportive as you could.” Simon can feel the beginning of a smile coming on. The last knotted up ribbon of anxiety in his chest comes to a slow rest. “You’re doing okay, Simon, don’t beat yourself up so much.”

He laughs crookedly. “I have a tendency to do that.”

“I know.” She reaches over the table and briefly covers his hand with hers. “Relax. You made a mess. You hurt some people. It’s not the end of the world. And you’re not gonna lose either Clary or me or Maureen over this.”

She’s looking at him like she’s trying to convey something important to her, and it occurs to Simon once again that Clary and him might have one of those connections where they need to exchange only one look to know what the other is thinking, but that he has other people, too.

Rebecca is lounging on the couch at home to wait for him, Maureen has already texted him 25 times since the picture of him and Clary surfaced, and here he’s sitting with Maia looking at him like she understands exactly what he needs. Looking at him like he’ll be okay no matter what.

He probably will be okay no matter what. Even no matter what his brain tries to tell him.

He leans back, as well and watches her eat the cookie that comes with the coffee.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” He shuffles on his chair, and when she doesn’t say anything, just gives him another eyebrow raise, he continues, “Back on the porch, you said _still._ That I was _still_ in love with Clary.”

She shrugs, but she’s still looking him in the eyes. “Well, yeah,” she says like it’s the most self-evident thing of all time. “I really thought you were over her by now.”

“I _am,_ ” he emphasizes and just then his brain decides that it’s time to focus on the actually important part. “Wait, you _knew?”_

Startled, she laughs. Simon gives a little breath and files the sound away under the more glorious noises he’s heard in his life. “Simon, please. You’re not exactly subtle when you’re pining. Not to me, anyway.”

“You do have those people skills,” he muses. “You should think about bartending sometime.”

Chuckling, she stretches her arms in front of her. “You should think about getting your moony eyes under control.”

“My _moony eyes?”_

“Yeah.” She nods emphatically. “Whenever you think your crush isn’t looking, your eyes go all wide and… _moony._ ”

“Oh my God,” Simon groans.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “Jace does his variation of the same thing when you’re not looking.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles. And he really, really needs her to. His stomach is fluttering at the thought alone.

She tilts her head. Her eyes reflect the soft light of the evening set-up of the café. “I hate to say this, but you look like you need a hug.”

“ _You_ look like you need a hug,” Simon retorts, completely nonsensically.

She smiles, like she’s trying to go for a benevolent expression but it becomes shaky halfway through, so she goes for sober instead. “I could do a hug,” she shrugs.

Simon runs a hand through his hair and breathes out, letting his shoulders drop. He slides out of his booth and into hers. She slides down when he puts his right arm on the backrest, laying her head on his shoulder, pressing close. He leans his head on hers, and they breathe together.

They stay like that until the last customers file out.

 

* * *

 

For the first time in a long time, Simon marches into school with all three of his oldest friends, again.

It’s a feeling he’s honestly missed.

It’s probably the only reason why he stays so calm, when they get to his locker, almost like part of him expected the next explosion.

And alas, when the few people standing around throw him a few brief looks and then scatter, he knows it’s a good thing that he did.

Clary huffs out of her nose like a bull and Simon wouldn’t be totally surprised if she started pawing at the floor as well.

The picture is on his locker.

Maia heaves a sigh, deep and world-weary. Jordan used to make her sound like that all the time. “God,” she says. “Why?”

“Well,” Maureen says from behind them, undoubtedly in the best mood out of all of them. “I’m not an expert, but I would assume it’s just one of his maneuvers again. Letting us know that he’s still paying attention.”

“No, really?” Maia asks, turning around now. “You think that’s what it is?”

Maureen raises up her hands. “Sorry. I wasn’t sure we’re on the same page.”

“Dammit,” Clary growls from beside Simon. “That’s it.”

She pulls her scrunchie out and shakes her hair loose. Then she shoves her backpack into Simon’s arms with force. He teeters backwards with a hard exhale, and consequently fails to hold her back from marching down the hallway.

“Yup, there she goes,” Maureen looks after her wistfully. “To kill a man.”

She looks at Simon, who looks at Maia, who looks at Maureen. None of them seem particularly inclined to follow and witness the inevitable massacre that’s about to take place.

There’s a ripping sound behind them. When their heads whip around, it’s Lydia Branwell is standing behind them by Simon’s locker, crumpling up that unfortunate, heinous picture.

Simon looks at her, then at Maureen, then at Maia.

“You take her, I take him,” Lydia commands, grabbing Simon by his arm. Then, thankfully, she drags him away from that godforsaken hallway, and into the music room. He barely has time to look over his shoulder to see Maia and Maureen take off in the opposite direction.

Lydia lets him go and crosses her arms as she leans against the teacher’s desk. “Has this kind of thing been happening to you a lot?” she asks, all business.

“Um,” Simon says. “No? You should probably talk to Maia about this.”

She squints. “Why?”

“Because Jordan is really more a her-related kind of problem…” He trails off, unsure about whether he’s already said too much, but she doesn’t seem too keen on pressing him on issues he doesn’t want to say too much about.

Instead, she just nods. Curt and precise. Everything about her seems to be curt and precise. “I will ask her then.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Good.”

They stare at each other quietly for a few awkward seconds.

“I don’t want to talk about Jace,” she says, and sounds like she means it. “He’s none of my business anymore, and you two seemed to have a grip on things.” She tucks a non-existent loose strand of hair behind her ear. “But there’s a rift now, yes?”

Simon nods silently. (He has no idea of what he would say if he was required to speak right now.)

“Because of me.” It’s not a question, but it’s said with a soft authenticity that’s been lacking so far.

“Not just because of you,” he tries tentatively. “Only partially. He’s been sort of shifty about you. About everything, really. And he _thinks_ I’m in love with Clary. It’s all very unfortunate.”

“He thinks,” she repeats. “But you’re not.”

“Yeah, no.” He raises his arms helplessly. “That’s sort of what he helped me figure out.”

She nods like she’s giving careful consideration to that statement. Around her, every word seems to matter. “I’ve seen Jace in a lot of stages of a relationship. I’ve seen him fall in and out of love with me. I’ve seen him settle. I’ve seen him look at that picture of you and her.” Her forehead creases when she recalls the memory. Simon can barely keep himself from asking. “You should tell him that he’s got it wrong there.”

He tries hard not to writhe. “I don’t know,” he says. He doesn’t think she’ll say anymore. “Can I go now?”

She smiles mildly and nods, so he goes for the doorknob.

“Simon.” He turns around, and the tension is all melted from her face. She was a good girlfriend, Simon just knows when he looks at her like this. “You should try saying it to his face. Once. Sometimes that’s what he needs.”

 

* * *

 

Three days, he relatively successfully ignores any and all Lightwoods.

Less successful is his denial of the emptiness in his van in the mornings and afternoons, and the punch to the gut every time he remembers something Jace did or said or hinted at.

The regular rehearsals he’s having with Maureen for their performance at The Institute aren’t particularly helping.

Overall, it’s not great.

But it’s certainly better than seeing Alec lean against his van after school.

Simon puts a pause in his steps, but then he gets into the driver’s seat without saying anything, and waits for Alec to get in. He starts the engine and pulls out of the parking lot.

Alec lets them stew in silence, and Simon focuses on the road.

“What are you doing?”

It’s a good start. For Alec, it’s a good start. Simon distantly wonders, if anyone might eventually manage to teach him to be polite to _all_ people. He doesn’t calculate the probability as all that high.

“Why, I’m driving my car,” he says in his best 60s female movie star voice. “What are you doing, my good man?”

Alec doesn’t appear to deem his mocking tone worthy of a comment. “Why haven’t you talked to Jace, yet?”

“God, you really know how to do this,” he says. “I don’t know, Alec, maybe it isn’t really any of your business.”

“Izzy talked to you, right?”

Simon frowns into the rearview mirror. “Yes.”

“You _listened,_ right?”

Simon sighs. “I like to fancy myself an attentive person.”

“Uh huh, alright.” He doesn’t sound like it’s alright, but Simon honestly doesn’t care. “This can’t be that hard. He likes you. It’s simple.”

“You’re not the first one to tell me this.”

“Then what the hell are you waiting for?” he asks. It’s beyond frustrated. It’s _angry._

Simon bites the inside of his cheek, so he doesn’t explode. “Alec,” he says as quietly and calmly as he can. “It’s not about whether or not he actually _likes_ me. It’s about the fact that if he does, he can’t say it to my face.”

Alec opens his mouth and Simon raises a hand. “No, listen. You and Izzy and Lydia, you can tell me about his feelings all you want, but he has to do some of the work, too. I don’t care whether or not he’s messed up from his childhood or whatever. I mean, I _do_ care, but I’m not gonna ask him to give me an hourly update on his emotional condition. All I’m asking is that everything doesn’t fall on me. It can’t be my _duty_ to figure him out.”

Alec goes silent. Eerily silent. Simon doesn’t know how one person can take up so much space and yet emit so little noise.

Then, after a good three minutes, he says the most unthinkable thing. “You’re right.”

Simon almost crashes the car. “I’m _what?_ ”

Alec glares. He’s not gonna say it again. Not that Simon expected him to.

Still, though, he seems to have given Alec incentive to think. “He came by your place after the trip and the picture.”

“He did.”

“It was ugly, wasn’t it?”

Simon swallows. “Yeah.”

“He was honest then. Trust me. I know.” Alec continues stubbornly looking forward.

 “You think he can do that again?” Simon tries to keep his eyes on the road.

Alec turns his head right to look at the trees rushing by outside. “I think he can do a lot of things if you’re asking for them.”

 

* * *

 

Simon parks in front of the house and drops his head down onto his hands clutching the steering wheel.

He wants this to be over. It sucks that this is in his hands.

There’s something holding him back to get out of the car, though. He knows his mother is home already – Rebecca having left at the end of the holidays – and she’ll probably stick to her routine of the last few days, giving completely unsubtle advice on the side but still giving him his necessary space and trying to be there for him without really knowing what’s going on. Yet, he doesn’t want to leave with the angry echo of Alec still in the car, staring at him with a different sort of intensity than Jace’s eyes always hold.

_“Dammit,”_ Simon growls and bangs on the steering wheel.

In the end, he pulls out of the driveway before he can definitively make up his mind about either getting into his bed to hide under his blanket or breaking into the Lightwood’s house and getting into Jace’s bed to hide under _his_ blanket. He figures that his mind would never come to a result anyway.

He finds himself on the school parking lot before he can think twice about it.

Soccer practice should just be letting out.

And alas, Raj is skipping onto the lot as Simon is getting out of the van. Two of the guys from the team follow after him and give nods of acknowledgement to him while Raj waves with the understated friendliness of the truly cool.

Simon so wishes that he could adopt the same attitude right now.

Instead, his legs get heavier and heavier with every step he takes towards the field, passing the bleachers and still fighting down the incessant urge to puke.

Like it’s fated, Jace is still packing up at one of the goal posts across the field, the last guy left, as the rest of the team files out.

Simon tries his best to ignore everyone else, gulps down his terror, and marches on, right up to six feet behind Jace, who still has his back turned.

“What?” Jace says, annoyed, and it’s a little worrying how the sound of it makes Simon’s heart leap, even with the harsh tone of it. Then, Jace turns around and his face undergoes some kind of complicated transformation. “Simon.”

Simon smiles shakily and takes one deep breath. “I’m not in love with Clary.”

“Okay,” Jace says, and Simon hopes that he hears it correctly when it sounds like the breath has been punched out of him.

It gives him enough courage to continue, anyway. “I really had a major crush on her for years.” He adjusts his glasses. “But you—you were just… unexpected. So unexpected. In the best kind of way. I mean—” He inhales harshly before he can spiral into hyperventilating. “It sounds really shitty, but I kinda thought you would be my attempt at replacing my idea of Clary. And you just threw that out of the window, like you do.”

The lines of Jace’s face soften out a little, so Simon takes a step closer. “I sort of grew into wanting you, and I’m just here to tell you that I have no regrets about that.” Then, he clasps his clammy hands. “So… yeah.”

He starts bouncing on the balls of his feet and wills himself to shut up. He tries to decipher Jace’s reaction. It’s made a little hard when Jace averts his eyes and tosses the football he’s holding onto his bag.

Then he starts moving towards Simon and it’s hard to think anything at all. About seven inches from him, Jace stops.

“There’s this thing that I need to tell you. It’s only fair.” He clenches his jaw, but he valiantly keeps looking into Simon’s eyes. He sounds almost reverently serious, when he says, “I fell for you weeks ago and the only thing our arrangement has been about for me since has been keeping you close.”

Simon tries to keep his smile contained. It doesn’t work very well, but given the circumstances he thinks he’s allowed. His heart is pounding up into his throat. “How does that honesty feel?”

“Excruciating. I’m never doing that again,” Jace says decidedly.

Simon draws in a sharp breath and tilts his head, considering. “I’m afraid you’re gonna have to, buddy.”

“Don’t call me buddy.” Jace almost, almost closes the distance between them. “And you have a deal there, Simon.”

Simon’s heart spikes when he puts his name at the end. He wants to kiss him so very bad. “Let me ask you something, then,” he says. It’s the last thing. The last thing on the list of things he _needs_ to ask before he can give into it. All of it. One last thing. “Why did you say yes to me kissing you on that track?”

Jace smiles, and it’s so open, it makes Simon’s heart soar. “I excel at a lot of things, Simon,” he says, but it sounds drunk with pleased excitement. “But I’m building a record of failure when it comes to kissing you.”

Simon’s throat goes dry. “That’s not a bad line,” he whispers.

The corner’s of Jace’s mouth twist and turns his smile smug. “I know.”

“Yeah okay,” Simon says, and even manages to roll his eyes. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Okay,” Jace says lowly, and doesn’t waste another second.

He pulls Simon in by the waist, and they meet halfway. It’s urgent and pressing, with Simon sliding his hands up Jace’s shoulders and locking them behind his neck. Jace makes a little noise in the back of his throat, hitching and uncontrolled, and this is so much better than any of their previous kisses.

They’re definitely doing this again. Simon smiles into the kiss at the thought that they really will, because they really can. Without any pretension.

His smile that won’t be contained makes their current position a little impossible to hold, though, so they take a short break to relieve his elation in a sharp laugh. When he gets it together enough to lean back in, Jace’s eyes are just as soft as Simon’s smile was wide.

He’s not an expert on this kind of thing by a long shot, but this seems like a pretty good real start to him.

 

* * *

 

After the applause has ended, Simon descends from the stage in a daze.

The Institute is never really empty, and for their performance today most tables have at least one person sitting at them. It sends a thrill shooting up his spine. As he makes his way through the café heading for the counter where there are beaming faces waiting for him.

But before he can follow at Maureen’s back, he gets held up by a girl leaning back in her chair to look up at him.

“You were really good,” she says. “I’d like to hear you again sometime.”

“And you can!” Clary skips up to them, apparently too impatient to wait for him. She wraps an arm around Simon’s waist with such force that it makes both of them sway from side to side and beams at the girl. “Just be here at the same time in two weeks.”

The girl nods at her politely and lets them go. Not that anything could deter Clary from dragging Simon with her now. Wisely, no one else tries to stop them. When they reach the bar, she hugs him once, tightly, and then pulls away, patting his shoulders. “That was awesome,” she tells him.

Maia comes up behind her, pulling her girlfriend in by the hips and resting her head on her shoulder. “It really was.” She looks over to the other end of the counter. “You even got Maureen a groupie already.”

Simon looks over his shoulder where Maureen is being chatted up by a surfer dude. He smiles. “I don’t think she needs me for that.”

“Yeah,” Izzy’s voice sounds from beyond Clary and Maia. “But you were pretty good, too.” She beams at him when Clary and Maia move out of the way. Her arm is resting on the counter behind Meliorn who nods at him.

“I particularly enjoyed your second piece,” he says, and Aline gives him a thumbs up over Meliorn’s head. Simon thinks his face might soon burst from all the smiling he’s doing. He doesn’t think that it can get any better than this.

That is, until he can feel a person slide up behind him. “Alright,” Jace says amiably as he gets onto the stool Simon is sitting in front of. “You guys can stop hogging him now.”

“Yes,” Izzy says, amused. “That’s what we were doing.”

Jace glares at her and then turns to Simon, fixing a coffee cup into his hand. “Got you the good stuff,” he says. “Alec is choosing which muffin to get you.”

“Thanks.” Simon chuckles. “So, what did you think?”

Jace slips his hand into Simon’s back pocket and pulls him in between his legs. “You did good, Lewis,” he says, and Simon leans down to kiss him.

THE END

 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [tumblr](https://joeymonica.tumblr.com/) where i post mostly about sitcoms, but you can ask me about anything.


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